Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Cigs.



I burn and that makes you happy of course
You're not the one that deteriorates to loss
So don't point fingers for the small things I do
Because your ecstasy, it makes me feel small

Lets make one thing a little less smoky
Before I get blown by the winter night's air
All the blame on me is a little undeserved
I'm not bad for you, you are death for me.

7 comments:

Ahahgshene said...

heh. that's kinda true. no one ever sticks up for cigs :P but then again... i won't ever touch one so cigs don't have nothing on me ^_^

Ahahgshene said...

heh. that's kinda true. no one ever sticks up for cigs :P but then again... i won't ever touch one so cigs don't have nothing on me ^_^

R said...

hahaha cute:)

SoggyCereal said...

lmfao abby theres more to this poem than literal smoking and cigs. :) its metaphorical <3

Love you R

R said...

and how does this apply to you?

keeSha said...

Wow, this is so different from your normal stuff. Deep. O_O

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