I like to smoke cigarettes
On nights when I can’t tell
If it is breathe or smoke
That clouds my sight.

I live for nights
when I can’t tell
if it’s the heater,
or love
That warms my skin
when we touch.

I like that I’ll smoke five dollar fags
to the filter.
Not because I’m insatiable,
But because I want
my monies worth of cancer,
And I love that
you probably didn’t realize it.

I love that I can’t call you
out of boredom anymore
And that I don’t own a TV.

I love that I hold on to promises,
Not knowing if they’ve
been broken already.

I love that I have someone
who knows me better then anyone,
But I love more that
I can’t tell in the slightest
what you’re feeling.

I love that I’m aimless and obscure
when I don’t have words
to explain how I feel.

I like that I’ve burnt bridges
and tried to rebuild them,
knowing I’m no architect.

…Maybe being jaded is easier,
Life seems more justified
if you’re angry about something.

I love that I find sense
in smoking a cigarette,
then taking seven flights of stairs to my room
To find balance.

I like that I have a hat full of advice,
But not a clue what to wear it with.

I love that people see in me
what I want them to,
And I love more that
I don’t know if I am sincere with that.

I like that you’ll probably never read this,
But I love more
That I don’t know if it would matter
once you did.