one more cigarette
no more voices
from across the room
to breathe
the air is getting thin
king again for a day or two
much smoke in one lung
out the other
day he saw a ghost
reminded him of himself
not long ago
wish on an empty star
could have been the one
to take him away from the madness
sadness drags him behind
hitting every stone with his head
somehow knocking some sense
into or out of sleep stolen
from all those around him
there is no one thought
two million all at once
there was an empty heart
filled now with love for self
can’t think of why
it always turns out this way
or that pit is what he avoids
daily swinging and missing
and missing the point is
perfecting the swing
and soon he will hit the ball
head on doesn’t matter how far
it goes as long as he puts it in
play
the game may never
end unless of course he quits
when he is ahead or behind
it’s all the same…
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