Two Fifty Three A.M.

Time steadily crawls at a pace more painful than fire
And although the months have stacked high,
And many others have passed between my teeth,
On my lips, your name still lingers.

The last cigarette with its lucky top down
Takes the shame from addiction;
I crave your breath with unmatched intensity
Yet your mythology is far more haunting.

Narcotics fail at distraction
And your perpetual radiance remains at my core
My universe could revolve around you,
If only I could become your lighter.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem