After smoking my first pack
Of cigarettes
(Cheyenne Cherries, $2.09 at Marathon)
The novelty wore off pretty quick.
It didn’t feel cool anymore,
Didn’t make me feel important.
The cigarette was just something
To stick between my fingers,
**** between my lips,
Inhale and feel something
(feel Hell)
In my lungs.
A prop.
It was just a stick
With a red, smoldering ****,
A piece of tobacco
To play with before the ember
Ate way down to the filter
And singed my fingertips.

Now, I think I light up
(Cheyenne Cherries, $2.09 at Marathon)
Because the smoke is so
******* enticing. It’s beautiful,
A kinesthetic work of art
(like a ballet),
The way those silver
Tendrils curl so languidly
From the tip into the air,
So graceful, so smooth.
When I smoke
I can’t help but to imagine
I’m watching a group of dancers.
Or something.

And I think I light up
(Cheyenne Cherries, $2.09 at Marathon)
Because there’s nothing better to do
Half the time and at least
It flouts the boredom
(for a few minutes or so),
At least it interrupts the
Relentless monotony of Life.
Kurt Vonnegut mentioned
Something about smoking
Being a noble form of suicide.

Well, so it goes.

Tiny little pills,
made to help pain.
trust me
they did

It started on a Saturday.
It always starts on a Saturday.

He thought she was mad at him.
He did not know why.
He never knows why.

I did not know either.
He came to me.
He always comes to me.

I asked her what was wrong
She said “nothing”.
Nothing is ever wrong.

I told him what she said.
He looked sad.
He always looks sad.

But I think I know whats wrong.
And she’s right.
Nothing is wrong.

Nothing is wrong
Everything is fine and that scares her.
So she shuts down.

you lay in my bed
for the first time in weeks
and the first thing
you want to talk about
is the end

not what you ate for breakfast
or how you love
the way the my fingers look
holding onto your chest

not that you had fun
at the concert last night
and you liked the tea they served
in the cafe next door

not about how
your mom used to sing
"you are my sunshine"
to you every night

no none of that
you want to talk about how
in just a few months
everything we've built
will come tumbling down

how in just two seasons
our hearts will be
straining across state lines
to love each other

but i want to talk about
the way your hair
has been sticking out in tufts
ever since you shaved your head

i want to talk about
the way you
chew on your tongue
when you're about to fall asleep

they way your almond shaped eyes
close when you try to remember
what song your favorite
artist opened with

i want to talk about now
and here
and us
being

These birds, why do they take off and fly?
Do they not know that there is no sky?
Do they not know there's no ground on to land?
Do they not know that the world's not so grand?

Do they not know that the wind doesn't blow,
That their unborn offspring shall never grow?
These doves, why do they take off and fly
When it's obvious that the world will soon die?