Story Of My Life

Nothing Is Left That Is Mine

But if it's smoke that burns my eyes and lungs
Then my soul may feel cleansed with polish
No more than a scratch or a gram of dirt
Crushed down to ash in my lungs
And so I can't breathe
Physically
However my heart breathes in ecstasy;
Smoke rises
So my being will rot away
In hopes and prayers for life after death
To be or not to be
Hopelessly in love