I've quit the killing-
another addiction
my convictions
are open bare.

forgetting what its like,
to deal with stress and the like
without nicotines merciful smile

perfect timing i would say
now that math makes up my days
and work the latter of my nights

i've no form for this urge
that pulls inside
rung out like a sponge
wanting water.

elixir of toxins
heath risks
and iron lungs
chained and yet
so free.

how long can i resist your cough?

We army crawl across the dirt and patches of dying grass.

Barely missing us, they passed.

Crawl to one smoldering, watching out for broken glass.

We thoroughly examine it.

The white of the missile contrasts against the dirt.

We hear their cackles.

I hear a familiar click.

I look up toward the deck.

Curiously, I watch a finger press the button of the bic.

From the corner of my eye, I see her mother's fingers flick.

Another missile heading our way.

"Watch out!" my cousin yells to make me alert.

But it was too late.

Why didn't I hear the familiar noise of it hitting the dirt?

I look down and see another cigarette burn a hole through my skirt.

I was too slow.

It was too quick.

Now my skirt is aglow.

Through her half-witted smile, smoke is blown.

I was only six,

They should have known.

back aching, i want more
sweat, suffering, sweet lips
the suction - when two fatless chests
press close
hair in your eyes
in my mouth, brush away
from my cheek
half-lidded peek
grasp me
i want you to hold my hand
into the mattress
breaking the ice
with every push
whisper, tickle my ear
eat my skinny bones
i feel alive
skin is numb
electric
welts across my back
nails carving our way into spine
pillow talk
the awkward walk
another cigarette

tell me i'm pretty
i think I am

The more I smoke the more I dream.
Tick-tock, two minutes past this clock;
The lighter's edge, my conscious screams;
Death is sweet in his apology.