As lungs rot
From endless nights and vagabond daylights
Smoke fills up the entire head,
Drowning us deep within

Some people die at 25 and aren’t buried until 75. (Benjamin Franklin)

Afternoons where you just did not know what to do — 
Coffee seems nice but what would that be a difference,
Than staying quiet in your room
Thinking about ways to kill yourself.

Sometimes when the clock hits 3 AM
The time where doing anything would be too early and too late
You wanted to close your eyes in serenity,
But sudden flashes of thousand failures and failed hopes
Punctured your irises and guilt made you blind.