The basement is cold tonight.
I sit here alone, everyone else sleeps.
Awake again, all night this time I fear.
My thoughts scattered from this and that.
Breaking off in bits and floating around.
Trying to remember where I left the smokes.
My fingers stumble across the keyboard.
Jumbled, the desk needs cleaned.
And this song sucks.
Sweet cancerous death.
How I love to know what you do to me.
Shriveling and destroying my lungs.
Eating my throat and ruining my taste.
Delicious addiction.
Author notes
i dont know
Written May 5th, 2006
What did you think
Comments
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i think you missed the point, it is insomnia and what it does to ones brain pattern, but yes, sweet sweet cancerous death, taste like shit but we keep on puffin.
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I love it this is almost exactly what i go through when i try to conjure up some writes and it's a wierd thing with ciggerates, huh? i mean they honestly taste like shit and yet we always go back it's like we dont want to live that long a conscious decision anyways good write , peace out, joey
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