Drop from her porcelain face onto razor blades below.
Elbows on the table, accompanied by a cigarette and a mug,
Her only 2 friends clutched in agony with a streaming face.
Somber black coffee, licking her lips every so often,
She prays to drown, every sip as her last.
Washing the taste down with a nicotine cloud,
Her lips kissed the filter like a lover.
Those lips, so mystic, I could live on them forever,
And all but worry why she taints them so.
I could dance in her mouth, Far better than the coffee ever could,
And seep into her lungs, tickling the walls, more than nicotine provides.
She’s drowning herself, but I’ll be there to save her.
She’s drowning herself.
And I’ll be here,