Ashtray For Thought
I finish my day with a nicotine high, and I find myself staring at the stars in the sky, thinking of him, thinking of the ghosts, of lips together and waves on the coast. Wet rocks and liqueur shots, driving fast, avoiding the cops. Every flick of my lighter is a memory, and every stump of a cigarette butt is another three. Death may be coming, but at least I'm happy.
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