I find myself poised behind a cigarette
A smoke filled conscienceness
Seems to be the only reality here
The clock reads late, but
Time seems to hold no bearing over me
As these tired words drag on I see
That as of late I'm slipping into uncertainty
Wound up in couch cushions and stale smoke
Like a fly caught in a web, trapped
The clock reads early now and sleep tempts these eyes
Listening to the sounds of late-night traffic
I feel a new day ahead
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