Cigarettes.

I hate the smell of cigarettes
that hangs on your breath at night,
the sickly scent of smoke,
that stains and your hands mouth.
I hate the way how my own mouth
now labours around your name,
and only the things I hated,
were the thingss that stayed the same.

I gave up blogging.

I gave up blogging because I realised I had nothing to say, and no-one I wanted to hear me. Still the same.