There are a lot of secrets shared between me and my smokes

Looks like rain, or maybe that's just something the Grateful Dead sang, I think while I smoke.

Where are their parents, we muse, as young children run and play up the empty sidewalks of First Avenue, me and my smokes.

My lungs feel okay now but will they be at 60, that's a secret I share between me and my smokes.

Men are a mystery we want to solve, me and my smokes.

There are a lot of secrets shared between me and my smokes.

They tore down the gas station across the street from my apartment and put up a luxury highrise in 1/4 of time it would taken to build a much needed school.

There are a lot of secrets shared between me and my smokes.

There are a lot of miserable people who can try to bring a girl down, but she will survive because she knows that when you cut through the shit in this world, it's really just as simple as her and her smokes.

You can cry and scream or shut down and withdraw but nothing can make you feel right in your world except you, and the answer to your complexities will come quietly and knock on your mind's door when you are having a smoke.

I will always come out on top, but may morph into another form, like a regenerating starfish...

Rip me, tear me, try to destroy me. I will never go away, just evolve.

That's one of the secrets shared between me and my smokes.

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