Charcoal Man
He takes a drag from the One thing that's scared of him. He snuffs out its light each time He's done with it. Nicotine flows through his veins Like a snowboarder on a Black Diamond; quick and Fearless. He doesn't care that others can smell it Because he can, and it smells Like home. If only the smell of whiskey Could be mixed in. Too many sleepless nights have caused this Habit to take form. An invisible Devil inside telling him To slowly waste away. The slow burn of the paper ignites Something in him that no one else Can; or maybe, he hasn't even let Them try. So burn on charcoal man, Made of paper and flame. Someday you'll feel the sting of the tar; Someday you'll breathe fire.
