The things that are consistant with last moments.

[joysephine]

This night is so cold.
I'm the only thing out here alive tonight.
The last thing to feel that way.
In my right hand, my lover, beautiful hot smoke pour from my lips.
This cigarette is my only solace in a world so lonely.
I know that somewhere, somehow I am loved.
But the bitterness of this feeling will forever taint my heart.
These things so unloved.
I miss the days of my youth when I wanted it so bad.
To feel the touch of a hand,
the heat of a whisper warm against my cheek.
The little things in life that make it so passionate.
I sparkled when I was seventeen.
My youthful luster has been kicked into soot...
a time I cannot change nor go back to.
I'm not in debt to the one that loves me,
nor the one that saved my life...
I'm in debt to the lover in my right hand,
and the warm heat that parts my lips.
I cannot stand to be second...
my hatred toward 'almost first.'
I'd most certainly rather be last.
For this I'll always be number one...
remain so in my coffin of disloyalty.
This night has gotten so much colder.
My fingertips cannot feel.
My last warm part that will forever be...
the lust for all things pure.
And the particles I exhale.

How endeared you so don't make me feel.