how are you supposed to feel
when they tell you,
hey kid,
i’m sorry,
we found the beginnings to that thing
that almost killed your grandmother
and took the life out of your aunt
and is currently killing your uncle
and will probably **** you.

but she smoked her whole life,
I said.
and so did she.
and so did he.
then I remembered that first
time I picked up a cigarette when
I was just 14.

under the bridge,
with some paints,
and a light in my eyes that I
never knew could go away.

“genetic predisposition” says he,
wise man in a white coat.
but he doesn’t understand how
this is just
another hill on a very
windy road.
the one that
put me in the hospital
during my senior year spring break
and is the reason I have to explain
to a boy what Illness is
before he
takes off my shirt.

i’m in the bed under those
blinding florescent lights,
i’m scared and crying.
and very, very alone.

this is not the first time,
and not the last time,
that i
will be here.
It will happen again
and again
and a young, blonde nurse
with big glasses and a brilliant smile
will look at me with
pitty in her eyes
and tell me everything will
be alright.

but it won’t
and that’s okay.

give me a light,
will ya?