The daily parade of naked skeletons are marching by me again,
They take off their wedding rings before their cleansing can begin.


All I had to do was close the door behind them,
and afterwards, I would look in to find a pyramid erected in my honour.

I could hear screams as the gas would fill the chamber,
and people bit and clawed at one another in panic.
As the weak gave in and lay down,
The others would climb on top of them in an instinctual attempt to get at the last of the clean air so that they may live just a little bit longer.
The strongest ones would be at the top of the pyramid.

What have I done?


The greatest of horrors brought upon the people of this land,
All happened under my command.

I never used to write poems
But then I read yours
And I fell in love with your words
With you

yes i smoke

i smoke to put something in my hand

to replace the same place your hand used to rest

so maybe its a force of habit

yes i smoke

just to keep something warm near me

because most things are painfully cold lately.

I started smoking cigarettes again

Something about having another thing burning between my fingers

Besides your hands

Makes me dismiss the feeling that lingers 
when I think of you

Since I can’t have your taste in my mouth

Menthol will have to do

I am addicted 

Isn't this sounding familar?
You **** me inside starting with my lungs

Like the small nicotine sticks do with every inhale

I would much rather your slender fingers in my hand

But for $10 a pack they last around a lot longer than you do 

No matter how much you rot me from the inside out

A piece of me will always be yours

Always

You and I stand
While I’m
Grasping a whiskey bottle in hand
A cigarette in between your fingers
A beret in your hair
The puff of smoke lingers
With this, we swear
To fill our empty hearts
In times of sin
To calm our nerves
Before we lose or win
To light the fire
During peace or danger
To love ourselves
Even the strangers
This is our vow
Our reminder to care
to fight, to love, and to share
Till the smoke in our lungs
**** us and our livers fail
Then we are left alone to die, to be hung.

I want to die

And that's not just a saying
I want to rip my lungs out
And stop myself from breathing
I've grown to hate not love
The so called "temple" He gave me
Day by day, always at thought
Accompanied with only the beauty of death
And the overwhelming feeling of envy
I'm tired and I just don't know
How to keep this facade on longer anymore
I'm sick in the head
But no one seems to care
I'm tired of the mistakes
And of the people who are never there

So I'm writing this poem
It's stupid I know
A bunch of useless thoughts
Put together for a final show
Maybe I'll be gone after you read the last word
Maybe I'll be crying to sleep again
Maybe I'll fantasize of shooting myself in the head
Maybe...

But I don't know

n.j.