Thursday, August 11, 2016


"Hours she looked at the pack clanged in her hand, 

it had been hidden inside the bottom drawer for months now. 

Hardly had she ever thought of it, 

let along feel the need to light one up. 

But she was biting her lips now, 

her nails bitten to the point where each of her fingers had little scratches on it, 

legs kept on moving. 

This anxious mind. 

Just one, 

what would be the harm? 

She could light one smoke it real slow, 

and then put the pack of cigarettes back in the shadows of the dark where it belonged. 

She needed one now. 

Her head was overflowing and she was so numb, 

oh how she died to get a headache of the silent killer lit in between her fingers. 

I remember my mom telling me once that they eased her mind, 

they comforted her, 

made the hurting flow away with the smoke up in the air, 

yet even after saving up for six months it only burned her fingers rather then enlight the dark... 

I'll just smoke you out."

I'll smoke you out...

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