I quit smoking cigarettes.
Romantic ideations of death.
Thinking of the paper taste, now
brings me the same enjoyment.
Balmy, blue summer nights.
Cradled my audience of stars.
Laughing at the shape of waste,
they smile down upon me these days.
I don't know why I quit.
I don't know why I started.
Desperation. Depression.
Emulation? My grandpa, he waved
his hand with his fingers around bones,
tracing orange stories with his dead light,
of his would have been adventures
would he have had the time.

I. I.
I.

I don't have to die
soon!
I don't have to re
tire to my
tomb
to

spin
a tale.

I've been so blue.
Out of the loop
with my body
& my mind,
but,

I. I.

I still have the time.

I've been so stressed.
Forgot I could
depress the stress
button just
fine,

On my
own!

Now, when
I have ***,
I have the breath
for pleasure:

Oxygen.