I was in the spirit
I was just his glass of whiskey
The last cigarette in his pack.
He kept me, to breathe me in,
Or drink everything I was down,
Only to find out that he only wanted me
Temporarily,
That the second his shot glass was empty,
Or that all the tobacco was smoked,
Charred, and blackened,
He would throw me out,
To find another temporary escape.
I was just like a mirror,
But he dropped me and I became broken apart,
So you could only see part of the
Old you in my broken pieces.
They say if you break a mirror it gives you seven years of bad luck,
But he wasn't cursed,
The black magic didn't work on him,
In stead it fortified itself to me,
Filling my veins with a dark smoke,
And my blood with a deadly poison.