Time To Go To Class

Blame it all on me. Its really easy and I've grown accustom to being a scapegoat. It's most likely all in my head. This head that recites versus that don't exist. I'm not even sure what language this shit is in, but apparently it doesnt matter because right now, all it wants is a cigarette. I drift in and out of fulfilling fixes and desires. Usually I don't care. But when it comes to you dear nicotine, I'm always there to pat you on the back and perhaps slip you a kiss. Some people call it "niggerlipping", I call it making out. Judge all you want but Sir Nic always takes me back. I've grown weary of coming and going and falling and walking and fucking and talking. I'd rather just watch. Sit on a curb and call it a day. I'll come back to you when the year has passed and the season change and I realize how much I can't stand being alone. But probably not; I've too much pride. Say what you will but I'll wait and you'll gaze. I'll smoke into a haze. My eyes feel clouded with blurriness I forgot existed. I remember a day of twenty different languages, in the shower, forgetting what my name was, realizing what the day was. And then I STOP...and it doesn't even matter. Write it on a paper, it'll be there for later.