Cigarette Sky

Underneath my cigarette sky.
The birds are choking, they fall and die.
The air is grey and black and white.
The lack of oxygen gets me high.

And I can't help but smile.

Even though my lungs are bleeding,
My eyes are dried from moisture-needing
And my fingernails are yellow and receeding,
I still refuse to do any pleading.

Dying is all worth-while.