poetman0902
Poison coming out of the air into the lungs of the people through cigarettes and carbon manoxide pollutaints,
Make my brain itch and my hand search for a stratch,
But I restrain and pull that hand back and put it back and put it back in my pocket,
I walk down the desolate road, baren and empty like a ghost town picked clean,
I finally gasp and hold my throat in pain and fall forward my face in the dust.