burn your poems and smoke them

i havnt used the internet for over a week, its wonderfully entertaining to me now.

i took an mc today so i didnt have to go to camp. somewhere in the middle of waiting my turn at the clinic, amidst my own cold shivers, pounding migraine, nausea and hacking coughs with the coppery taste of blood in my mouth, it suddenly occured to me that i never wrote a poem about the joys and experience of smoking. After all smoking used to be a big part of my life, and ive done it for almost a quarter of it. how unceremoniously i left it, no farewell, no last goodbye nothing, so i decided to .


we've missed the last buses and trains
so can we stay out til late

i like the dark
i like the way you are in the dark

on piggy back rides
under a bridge at night
i smelt your hair
now sometimes i smell you
when your not there

the end is near
wont you hold my hand til we get here

maybe its better this way
we'll never grow apart
never crash
never burn
never stray

still i cant help but wonder
what it would have been like anyway

can we stay
can we stay

walk under metal skeletons
sending drink cans to watery graves

every step we've made
is sending more darkness to bed

we've missed the last buses and trains
so can we stay til late

i want you so bad
but tomorrow won't wait.