Oh yeah she’s always there, she’ll give you a cig but you’ll never hear the end of it

went for a walk but I still have the devil in my pocket

both hands occupied for fear of death

I’m worried I wasted my prettiest years on men I didn’t even want to find me pretty

the moon and I

maybe reparenting myself just means traumatising myself in the ways I wish I was instead of how I was

smoking my own cigarettes by choice instead of inhaling Delhi’s crisp pollution

my lungs to damage

I’m not even that cut loose

I’m keeping myself above water as well as the next guy

barely stepping out of line

just enough to keep me where I am

I had a lighter to give to the strangers that asked

maybe I should sit on this corner forever and just be here in case they come back

that could be my life purpose

I could survive on the cigarettes they give me

this thing between my fingers burns out so quick

my little drags speeding it up

the wind stealing puffs