Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Dec 2013
I do not know where my cigarette goes when it's ashes are flicked to the wind-
I like to imagine them landing like magic, each part to become human again..
My choice to devour the ashes that scour
My lungs just as much as the earth..

is as if from my breath I am exhaling death, and click 'PLAY!!'

as a new life begins.
if the Buddha smoked Dunhill like Hunter S. Thompson.
softcomponent
Written by
softcomponent  30/M/Powell River, BC
(30/M/Powell River, BC)   
463
   Derek Yohn
Please log in to view and add comments on poems