it's ironic how we came to be together tonight
but as we sit in the dark
smoking our cigarettes
and talking about everything and nothing
waiting for the sun to rise outside
we don't wonder about trivial things like that
take a drag
inhale deeply and
exhale
watching the smoke blend together
it rises to the ceiling from our
separate burning butts
and gathers together into
a single cloud
twisting and writhing
and it's like lying outside in the summer
watching the clouds take different shapes
and still we talk
and still the smoke contorts itself
into a thousand visions
and sometimes what is wrong
can feel so right
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