Ash trays filled to the brim,
With smoke still curling into the air;
Reaching out to steal your breath.
Cans and caps litter the tables like fallen leaves,
As you trip over an empty wine bottle, you wonder...
Is this why waking up ceases to be an option,
And I sit up straight at night,
Soaked in sweat,
With things I cannot remember
Stalking through the shadows?
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