she was as the smell of smoke,
clinging to my fingertips.
a linger of reckless abandon.
she was always the first ****
burning my throat as i inhale.
fingertips, trailing constellations,
sweat glistening as the smoke coils.
i need fresh air.
but my lungs are black,
and i cannot breathe unaided.
Feb 7, 2021
Feb 7, 2021 at 8:02 AM UTC
she was as the smell of smoke,
clinging to my fingertips.
a linger of reckless abandon.
she was always the first ****
burning my throat as i inhale.
fingertips, trailing constellations,
sweat glistening as the smoke coils.
i need fresh air.
but my lungs are black,
and i cannot breathe unaided.
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