When you count time By cigarettes smoked
You watch each grain of ash
Fall onto the cold brick beneath
With each inhale,
You feel a pang in your chest,
And it reminds you
You’re not dead yet
But you’re on your way.
And with every burnt filter
You smear beneath your boot
It reminds you
That’s one second closer to oblivion.
And cigarettes smoked may or may not outnumber
The ones that are waiting for you,
Yearning to move you forward
To someone that you may or may not be one day.