Smoked cigarettes and hangovers.

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His soul is a smoked cigarette,
Blackening his bare heart.
Try not to reach for either, I fear
ash falls apart fast.

Her mind is a sober child.
That likes to believe that its drunk.
Wouldn’t she die if she knew
Boring and tiring are hangovers.

They continue to run past parallel
Steady at edges, drunk on the highways.

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