Breath of Death

As I drive, I suddenly feel the need
My windows half down
Hands blowing in the breeze

I pull up, stop, and hand them my money
I grab my death, the spare change
And then I slowly start driving

I flip hold and pack, 
I flip hold and pack, 
Remove the plastic wrap
Falling into its trap

Twenty sticks of death 
Three, four, or five a day
Breathe after breath
My insides slowly decay
And my energy fades away

But that doesn't stop me
No, it never does
If anything I feign it more
A buzz is never enough

Of course I care to share
Though I do it anyway
For being greedy with my killer
Would only make me its slave

Down to the last two, three, or four 
I savor each hit, still craving for more
And I guess it's kind of sad                                                                                       To say that I can afford                                                                                       Death at its finest                                                                                                       In almost every store.

 

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741