Its 4 am I'm listening to a room of chainsmokers   Sound of a cigarette pressed hard against wet lips expanding at the fold, it draws me in and I wonder why I don't smoke      we listen like shapes of clouds   barely made out    recognized the best in the context of great ideas in ceramic cups    hot hot air was all we need to fill us up      So my ankles roll in my cubicle for a cigarette break   I want to stand outside at 3 in the afternoon   As the it twists between my finger tips and my hips      its 4 am I'm listening to a room of chainsmokers   sound of a cigarette pressed hard against wet lips expanding at the folds draws me in and I wonder why I don't smoke.