Air has never tasted like life.
Until I left an infested hospital.
Until I realized how stale the smoke
Feels in my lungs.
Still isn't reason enough to convince me not to take another drag.
A few more green lights.
A few more hours to empty the night.
You can't follow me and hide behind a building at the same time.
I can feel you lurking in the cracks,
Pausing in the alley ways behind.
Like reading over my shoulder,
It's that same feeling.
Like being watched by something you can't see. Chills.
The point is, what is the point?
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