Smoke Smells Better The Second Time

A poem about me.

Not such a needle exists
In my apartment room
My curtains are missing
And the spoons are all dirty
But I swear
There are no needles in my room

Though my bullets are spent
And the gun is smoking
No holes are in my head
I always miss
That point blank shot
There are not holes in my head

The girls never screamed
At least not the yellow hookers
I think she consented
Once the needle came to her
I swear she did not scream

Has anyone seen my gun?
The barrel is empty
But still I need to pull the trigger
At least for tonight

Please has anyone seen my gun?
I need a bullet just for tonight.