That split second high of second-hand smoking
Your words struck a chord with the rocky bourbon
yet why are your eyes looking less than convinced
by the very lies you tell no one else but yourself?
Ain’t a very good liar, are you?
Are you here to kill your inhumanity, too?
Such an irony
when we destroy part of our selves
to feel like ourselves once again.
Then one day
when there’s nothing left to say
when there’s nothing left to burn
we’ll watch ourselves turn
or rather, return
to what we came from
and what we will ever be…
to nothingness
and to infinity
t/p
