Cigarettes on the floor and in ashtray

Busy streets filled with Monday mornings
Rushing faces, tensed and hounding
Transcending the usual day
Here I lay in  my bed stuck with cigarettes on the floor and  in ashtray.
While the cold clouds rain showers through the  pedestrian  way
I keep calm and lay there in the bed stuck with cigarettes and ashtray
And with the night that passed
Hissing over my shoulder for hours.
I found no other way
Like a bird in her proud cage
I twist and roll and loath my fate.
With hands that do not feel the pain,
Lips that do not say the name
Ears that find it hard to hear and entertain
I lay here stuck in my bed with cigarettes on the floor and in ashtray
And hey! They are not mine
Just like the footsteps that those men left behind.
With spilt wine on the carpet
Blood red both real and fake
I was layed here in bed stuck with those cigarettes on my body and in the ashtray.
This bruised and burnt heart
Sinks and yells
With no sound audible in this hell.
Like the bird whose wings are chopped
Flaps hard yet falls
I am numb in the moment
With hollow hopes and red arms
I know I was harmed.
With grief I do not want to talk about
That touch which still lingers and laughs loud.
I wished to run away
With legs that could not be brave.
And so I lay here in my bed stuck with cigarettes on the floor and in ashtray.