ChokeI wish I couldReach down my throatAnd scrub it clean,My anxious windpipeIs coughing up blood it...

Choke

I wish I could

Reach down my throat

And scrub it clean,

My anxious windpipe

Is coughing up blood it seems,

Am I dying or am I suffering,

My curious mind discovers

That it will cease to recover

What I have always tried to hide,

I felt a shiver

A melody and a whisper,

I must fornicate

With my demons to realise,

The smoking gun

is hardly evidence of a device,

To destroy even the chance

Of life’s uncertain unraveling,

But I lie awake at night,

The perversions of the hours

Deepen the abyss

And the creatures of thought

Kept at bay

by the fires of a trillion cigarettes.