your landline’s disconnected but i’m addicted to the dial tone piercing my ear drum - breaking glass over the phone i drank cough syrup in protest, i’m still bleeding your name
through the speaker saccharine taste brings the ringing of fears, can’t breathe but I’m smoking
bleaker smashed the ashtray against the wall, why’d you have to go &
break connection heart in shards on the floor, I’ve cut my ears on your inflections bile rises up to burn my teeth to dust, yet i’m swallowing you
back down with a shot of lighter fluid my tongue clouds with ash; all it takes to burn is oxygen and flames or just
another lying kiss i’m slipping through cracks in the floorboards & i’m
searching for a ghost i never knew I’m suffocating in open spaces, a reflection dwelling in this
body of dew my lungs might burst if they never smell your shampoo or taste the dust from
your lips the scent of drowning was never as sweet as this
First thing in the morning and last thing at night, my bedside cabinet reinforces what I need most in life - and what provides intense rewards when I make it priority.
At the start and end of each day in bed, the compulsive ritual Communion ensures that my mind, lungs and soul are fucked by my Master and God, Marlboro, as HE grips my Cock and pumps it with lust and worship for HIM. Hail Marlboro!