Cigs

My fingertips smell like tobacco
My eyes feel like they’re marbles
My neck feels malformed
The more hurdles I’m faced with
The more irrational I become
My spine smells like it’s got matches lit inside it
My toes feel disconnected
And the marbles are looking in every direction
The nicotine will allow
And compulsive lust is a coping mechanism?
This is news to me?
Nicotine, caffeine, and a failing self-cannibalistic scream
Of creativity
Say you’re me
But I now it’s vice versa
And I’m kind but I’ll curse the
conclusion
In the wink of an eye
The singer flips onto a pile of teetering shells but the stack holds
And I’m just a little louse lost in life’s rotund back folds