Echoes from smoke rings and scribbles at night

Writing had never been so hard before

As the sky turns to night and the sunset pours down my window
my fingers cast shadows against the keyboard
Black, hazy and haunting
looming on the letters that would soon become words

words always fucking hurt when it's love, or poetry...

I've always been one for the movies
And I often watch films that seem to be an alternative to reality
They take me to places where love is found on the streets

I didn't know that it was supposed to be like that

Because i know that my love is a flower, grown in the
garden of sorrows and dead in the effigies of my mind

And the sound of the rain is a broken chord against my soul

Beautiful in the melancholic sort of way


It's always there,
sublime as my existence in this world
It was fitting as I felt dementia eating me alive
And all I hear are rusted automatons wheezing,
iron lungs calling out
"what is real?"


My world always feels the same
It's like a wound inside your mouth that never heals
because you tongue it so often
and I always tongue mine over and over again.

I guess the only time I stop is when I light cigarettes

and i just wanted you to know that you are an addiction

you're worse than nicotine