The room is dark,
I sit I contemplate
the purpose own I
do a future debate.
My ciggarette is lit,
the shade’s drawn
where I can’t see a
light of sun’s dawn.
The air smells stale,
the tobacco is rich
from combustion I
inhale it is so thick.
Escaping memory
is not so easy to do
when I reminisce a
smoke shaped you.
Whether I slumber
or am myself manic,
a ghost of yours it is
causing me a panic.
So I allow comfort
to seep in my lungs.
Seek I a peace from
words off a tounge.
The dark in me see
it gives ultimatums.
Be forever black or
resuscitate a haven.
So I lay my head it
down upon a pillow
after I let some sun
in the room to grow.
