A smoke I suck and puff on grey,
The colour they call fading away.
When did I learn to enjoy the burn.
A cigarette for imagined regrets.
“And if you’re in love you’re the lucky one
because most of us are breathing through corrupted lungs.” (
I ask my marred memory to wake up and smell the sky.
I ask my regrets not to fade from grey but see the beauty in the rain.
And I will find myself.
Take your fires away but leave me the warmth to shield me in the darkness.