The 2 A.M Writer

In Need Of A Smoke, Or A Life

Shaded eyes, and common lust upon your lips

Beckon to me, for I hold something similar

A drug inflicted by this constant mosquito

Keeps piercing my neck, like you do

All I want is permanent

But all that is happening is temporary


Stuck in my own head, but you\'re still there

The smoke won\'t cover your face anymore

Only brings low highs

A broken canoe on this rampant river

And I\'m sunk again by uncommon chemicals

Hoping these waves never bob me back up again


Won\'t you just kill me, or at least let me drown in melodramatic musings?

A bullet to the brain could be similar to a snipped umbilical,

If only I was ready to pull that trigger or use those scissors

God fucking damn you


Waking up somewhere between 4 and 5

Dusted off shoulders and empty bottles

Shook you off with the dust, I hoped