Broken Filter

His shakey, cigarette
hand is stained yellow,
like a dead canary
hit by a passing car.

The cravings take over
like a missed meal,
his stomach and lungs empty;
he orders another drink from the bar.

There is no telling where
his heart will head
when the booze kick in,
even if he doesn't light a smoke.

The night will pour on,
like it does with every ounce.
The feeling he gets is stronger
than it ever could from being dead broke.