I love the idea of smoke,
the fumes clinging to my lungs
and the exasperated gasp to regain air.
The smoke that can burn down a home,
a place filled with memories to be ruined,
ashes of forgotten darkness.
A smoke that can be a sign,
a scream for help and danger.
A reassurance to others of your struggle.
I like your smoke,
the intoxication of your breath,
mixing with mine in a moment of relief.
Before the bitter after taste of realisation.
For nothing can bring me joy,
nothing more than smoke can make me suffer.
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 1:45 PM UTC
I love the idea of smoke,
the fumes clinging to my lungs
and the exasperated gasp to regain air.
The smoke that can burn down a home,
a place filled with memories to be ruined,
ashes of forgotten darkness.
A smoke that can be a sign,
a scream for help and danger.
A reassurance to others of your struggle.
I like your smoke,
the intoxication of your breath,
mixing with mine in a moment of relief.
Before the bitter after taste of realisation.
For nothing can bring me joy,
nothing more than smoke can make me suffer.
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