I raise the bone up to my two juicy lips
and I purse.
Here comes the carcinogen, the miasmic smoke,
the old ghost.
it's not like it
not like it was.
I pick into the basalt black, like a boss.
mining verses from my vernacular
it's not like it
It's nothing like it was,
and I'm perfectly fine.
In a manner of speaking.
And what's worse
with something of a conscience
that despite being disrespected
***** will not let me leave.
to the face of death with a smile
stretched ear to ear bowed
under the weight of fear.
heavy pain. I use it against you.
Prostrate to the matrons
I begged for your courage for me.
Even when you hurt your loved ones
You focus on yourself
Even when you hurt someone you love
You protect yourself
You double down
in the name of pride.
Your children are smart enough
to purposefully see
that they never procreate
if only for the world
to both act Atropos
on this overgrown
and slash the path
of another hillbilly bloodline
Form inspired by the song "Smile" by AFI.
The breath of the wind raises hairs on her neck.
She breathes out a clouded breath of whiskey fire.
Outside the venue, she kicks her shoes, waiting.
Where's the loser on the drum kit?
She knows she blows the set with her absence, but she can't
Stop tapping her heel at the wall, measuring splits in bricks
With her nicotine fingernails.
Where's She? She's such a *****.
The whole day closes in, in an instant, night descends.
Her twentieth cigarette dances in a rush to end it,
But her eyes catch sight of the mauve and indigo sky through
Buildings over bridges. Twilight ignites her quarter candlestick.
Outside the venue she kicks her shoes, waiting.
Outside her lonely lungs drink carcinogen
to an eager death with smokers. Cough.
Cough cough cough
Cool as ice.
Love you all.
— The End —