My Cancerous Breath

Smooth. Rough. Light. Thick. Hot, hot, hot. The embers burn, as smoke turns in the air, like clouds through the sky. Rock City Tobacco Co. Number Seven Black. My lungs blacken as my heart attacks. This is the feeling no society lacks. Heard on the news someone was stabbed in the back. What can we do to get this back on track? Maybe more cops can gain some votes in a ballad. Maybe it will lower crime rates, or just raise taxes. But nothing is for certain as the curtain collapses. Only one thing is for certain I light my smokes with matches. Backwards black hat and some cheap sunglasses, keeps my head warm and dims the sun from my eyes. I bought some ear plugs to keep me def to the lies, that I'm hearing everyday from nine to five. Aren't they done with cutting corners? I have no need for these knives. All I need's a cigarette, I crave the rush it provides. It's the feeling that you get when you're just trying to survive. Using yesterdays paper as an umbrella from the lies, that are falling to the ground from the skies. My cancerous breath.