"Eyeliner and cigarettes" she sang.
well, that's what I'd like to have in my purse.
And a little bit of money, maybe.
Matches too, a little box,
I'm not asking for much.

Perhaps I'll dress in black,
look melancholy,
mimic musicians - the ones who aren't doing so well.
I'll stand outside bars with smudged makeup,
practised nonchalance,
and one foot against the wall.
 Isn't that how they do it?

I'd light a cigarette, hold it delicately
between my fingers.
Bring it to my lips, gracefully,
inhale, exhale. 
Arrange my expressions carefully,
knowing people are watching the rise and fall
of my chest and the smoke curling.

Perhaps it'd be a beacon
that could lead you to me.
That faint red glow, enough to light your way.
I wouldn't even have to burn any bridges.

Then, with black coffee and sugar
we could banish sleep and stain our teeth.

I'm always looking for another vice.

_