Half a pack of cigarettes mostly broke or bent 

I think of cancer as I put one to my 

cracked lips that long to slake this poison lust 

Voices spin and resonate inside 

This old phone booth shelters me from these lonely streets 

If only god would grant me strength to call you 

Just three words could help me slake this poison lust 

Esoteric memory you're an eyesore now 

Grab your handle twist your blade deep in my wound