Wicked

I step into a vacant room, isolated from the wicked things that lie on the over side of the door.
I try to empty my mind of these wicked ways, but like an addiction, it clings to the not only the mind, but the soul.
It's like my hands act for them selves as I blow smoke between from my lips, suddenly, things arent blury to my eyes
The glow from the cancer stick makes a glimmer in the dark blanket of the light ridden room, as i watch the white-lined mist drift in the glimmer, i think of how i loved these WICKED ways.