I'm smoking my last cigarette
In a room full of porcelain faces
With traces of arsenic in the air
This disease clouds the room
Every time I exhale
She asks me to dance and
I politely decline
For fear of shattering something so fine
It's growing harder to tell
What is real in this room
I ask her to dance and
She politely declines
For refusing her offer the first time
Was it her that I asked
Am I losing my mind
She didn't look real to me then
Is she now
Traces of arsenic cloud the room
Dress my eyes in tears
I cover them so I can't see
The porcelain face in the mirror
Staring back at me
I'm dreaming and
These dolls have grown frightening
Teeth bared to show
The monsters we become
When the line between reality and illusion
Becomes blurred by smoke.
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