Nicotine

let's call it a day,
and weave words this time instead;
orange sparks of ashfall in its stillness
will only be missed until time comes when the antidote is done,
when the only thing that keeps the world alive
is dyed in the wool with oxygen.

let's call it a night,
and read some weaved words this time instead;
it's always teasing but it reeks upon myself
and this spark will only be missed on another generation,
when the only thing that keeps butterflies on my stomach
is done to death with empty air.