Nicotine

Your eyes in the flame,
the contrast is quite clear.
I'm chained by guilt and shame
and I don't know what I'm doing here.
I can't figure it out...
But no matter how much I sew my heart up this tight,
these visions won't cease if I keep on smoking tonight.

Walking away from
everything I do wrong
and everything I've worked on
and how many more ******** songs
do I have to write
for this to leave my sight?
It's not worth the fight
that I put myself through
about the things that I do,
when I should consider myself lucky
to have breathed the same oxygen as you.
And be something more than what I used to be,
and keep carving out better versions of me.
Maybe one of these days one of them will be
worth the time I take and the blood I bleed.
But maybe it doesn't matter if I'm secondary.
'Cause some of the things I see just aren't in your vocabulary.
So does it really matter if I'm an eccentricity?
There's no answer anyway,
so let the carvings continue to be temporary.
The visions won't let me be,
and the contrast I'll continue to see,
but if I can't sleep, I can't dream,
so keep on drowning me in nicotine.