Half a pack of cigarettes mostly broke or bent 
I think of cancer as I put one to my 
cracked lips that long to slake this poison lust 
Voices spin and resonate inside 
This old phone booth shelters me from these lonely streets 
If only god would grant me strength to call you 
Just three words could help me slake this poison lust 
Esoteric memory you're an eyesore now 
Grab your handle twist your blade deep in my wound