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Dom 2h
Mirrors broken,
Fractions splitting,
Ever finely,
Watching secrets,
Flowing through me,
Ever asking,
Who am I?

When I can’t even see—
Me anymore
I don’t even dream—
Anymore.

Falling headfirst into the light
So bright it burnt my eyes,
In a dream or was it life?
Embattled with the ruse,
I could abscond with all the rules
A ravaging abuse obtusely used
As I drained away my youth.

Barreling though what I knew,
A misery of sorts,
Traumatic tendrils grip like anchors
The pills were my only resource
A numbness to pick up my sword
Dangled over head, Damocles
Striking down my enemies.

But bridges burnt,
Was a double edged blade
Because even the ones I loved
I could no longer save
As this anger exploded
Like a sun above us shining
Nuclear and blinding
I scorched ties and dried out salves
Until healing was impossible—
Lest you cauterized the wound.

Now as embers cool
And coals burn off to ash
Brittle like aching bones,
Brutal as hindsight,
Where loneliness creeps
And the current of thoughts
Flow like rapids concordantly
Drifting through the steepest fog
Where the mind divides,
I care only for clarity and intimacy
To feed this malnourishment.

It’s been so hard looking through time,
With eyes of a fly,
As these mirror shards remind,
I have never been sure.

Am I an artist?
                  Am I a poet?
                                     Am I a photographer?
            A philosopher?
                              Am I a fighter?
          A vigilante?
                             Am I human?
                   Am I a demon?
      Am I a lover?
                                   Am I anti life?

I stare blankly into a deep black emptiness.
Singing a forced fed lyric.:
Who am I?
Intentionally disjointed. The title is a computer command. When entered in command prompt it tells you what user id you’re using…thus telling you who you are. ©️ Dominick B
Dom 15h
This doesn’t compute
The lies that travel,
Silk woven webs
Have failed to connect.

I want to live on your tongue,
To see the words pass by,
Like a stage cars passing down
And when the crash hits

^BANG

And the letters jumble like passengers
Who will know what is real,
When the st-st-sttuddderr—ing sounds
Mix and relent into a lack of coherence?

What is the thing you wish to say
If you could have said, if you would have said
From your miserable maw?

Gaped with disbelief
As you hurdle credibility like landfill
Out of your mouth.

I command,
An exposition for you to stand,
Upon your own laurels
And hope you contend
On merit of your own self worth.

Lost in translation
These words no longer hold a meaning
It doesn’t bode well,
When nothing makes sense
From incredulous sources.

You remain…
A stain,
Syntax error.
Copyright ©️ Dominick B
  2d Dom
badwords
Stained are teeth, and fingers yellow,
Softly whispered lies we keep.
Smoke unfurls in breath so mellow,
Promising but sinking deep.

Coiling tendrils, soft and clever,
Lull the mind in fleeting grace.
Cinder ghosts that warm, yet sever,
Leave their embers on the face.

Every spark—a pledge unwinding,
Every drag—a weight we bear.
Sworn to comfort, yet confining,
Clinging to a thinning air.
Nicotine is a tightly structured, lyrical poem that explores the tension between fleeting comforts and the greater aspirations we often neglect. Using nicotine as both a literal and metaphorical device, the poem examines the small indulgences we cling to—despite knowing their cost—drawing a parallel to the broader human tendency to accept self-deception for the sake of temporary relief.

Through vivid imagery of smoke, stained fingers, and fading embers, the poem evokes a sense of quiet resignation, underscoring the slow erosion of will beneath a comforting but insidious habit. The rhythmic AB meter reinforces the hypnotic cycle of desire and consequence, mirroring the way these comforts lull us into complacency.

At its core, Nicotine is a confrontation—a mirror held up to our daily rationalizations, asking whether we truly seek change or merely the illusion of control. The introspective tone invites readers to reflect on their own vices, however small, and consider what they may be sacrificing in the name of fleeting ease.
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