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But Gordon,
ODB told me to like it raw
So if I bite into a chicken thigh
And realize the rubber texture
Is because I didn’t deep fry
Am I just a donut to you?
Glazed and sprinkled or fruit looped?
This was just something quick that came to me reminiscing about kitchen nightmares
i’m trying to get back to a place that never existed. you were the smoke,
I, the mirror.
i’ve always hated my reflection, eventually made friends with rejection. You could probably already tell I’ve fist fought l once or twice with acceptance. We could never see eye to eye. How quickly you turned the tables.
Friendly fire.
I hate to, but i’ll admit that it all caught me by surprise. You got me good. You ******* know it too. It sickens me to see how happy it makes you to put me in a mood. I want to be soft, i want to be kind to you. I want to show you parts i’ve kept sacred between myself and the noose.
 Feb 1 Max Vale
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.
the blue sky is laughing
-not an unreasonable title for
a biography

remembering the past
can be contencious-
henry ford said history is bunk

more or less..
we just forget from moment to
moment..
 Feb 1 Max Vale
duck
idling
 Feb 1 Max Vale
duck
twinkling, sparkling...
the night sky is bustling
tints of silver mingling
fragments of memories dwindling
fingers tingling
walking and cobbling
a nostalgic feeling
as i stopped, idling.
i sound like a grandma ;-;
Is tomorrow enough?
It has to be,
Today is almost gone you see,
Yet here I linger,
Alone at last,
My memories repeat the past,
The moon does rise,
Still I am inspired,
Embracing my muse,
Thou I am tired,
In the dark
I smoke,
I wait for the day
I will meet tomorrow….
Unafraid
©B L Costello 2016
I feel so small,
yet so do the stars,
when seen from afar,
they shine through the scars.

And now I feel better.....
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