Its a New York city night in this small corner of downtown hicktown
Cold and crowded
Rocked up onto the sidewalk, shoved into cracked walls
I quit smoking and Im dying just as quick by secondhand
Some of you smoke to be cool, or for some imaginary release with an exhale of breath and a flick of the wrist
I smoked to hurt,
to feel something real like cancer,
instead of my fake anemic diseases...
But I quit.. Decided to live this one out
Instead of hoping for Zen Physics [the art of reincarnation]
Im trying to sit Indian style on my cluttered floor in the middle of my chaos
in the noise
out the mouth
Its not curing this...
Because I think, and this is just me, that sadness is not the sickness
Happiness is the virus
I wish it were a disease
My ears are tipped with ice, and Im dripping icicles
I want to purge this coldness, I want to push it on someone like you, someone who could handle it
Its eating me from the inside out...
Gnawing at my stomach and every breath is another chipped tooth
Save me Sunshine.