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You were her cigarette.
That she got addicted to.
But you vanished over time.
Jasmine Reid Sep 17
ignited like a lighter,
fluid burning quick

rot on my skin, scars up you face

i watch you perish in debauch
while you hold my hand
explain this to me
Esther Sep 14
sitting outside in the autumn air
rolling one last cigarette
every night without a single worry

big sur moon my only friend
memories flowing back
drowning my senses in liquor and regret.
inspired by a conversation with Sam.
Jasmine Reid Sep 4
the jacket you left here still smells like cigarettes,
yet i'm wearing it because it makes me feel like i'm not alone
Pockets Aug 29
There’s no traffic in the canyon
Just hitch hiking coyotes
That *** to many cigarettes
But always have good stories
All they want is a play boy bunny
To scratch them behind the ears
Where the truck stop soap always collects
They are simple like that
That’s why I never fear all the teeth in their smiles
Dull and worn down by all the miles
They have put on those paws
When we pulled into the next town
They nodded and got off
Back to the puppies
Or back to no life at all
The sun beams down
The coyote walks
Pockets Aug 28
My girl is a cigarette

She’s a Lucky Strike
She won’t last me through the night

No matter how hard I draw on the conversation
I can’t spark her imagination

There’s nothing I can say
To make her a **** in my ashtray
Pockets Aug 28
Here I sit
Feeling like ****
Eyes red
***** blue
Reading haikus
Drinking cheap *****
Tryin’ to find that spark
If not to write
Then at least light my cigarette
So I can smother myself out
And go on to bed
Before today, I’d never bite the cigarette
You dangled in front of my lips;
But the smoke is the scent of ‘regret’
All over you and our relationship.
The smoke is dense, greying with each puff;
It is poisonous and carcinogenic.
I’ll accept your tease today
Because perhaps our memories with each other will fade away
As the smoke does once it is inhaled and released,
Lifted with the winds.
Bruh
Maguna Aug 6
even to hold a piece of a cigarette, people be staring at you like you're a rascal.
even to buy a piece of cigarette, people be staring at you like you're depressed.
even to smoke a piece of cigarette, people be staring at you like you're nothing but an innominate kid.

aside from being given the badge of being privileged well-being, and fulfilled the standard of life, neither smoking could be the best druthers.

therefore, she went undercover, caught a paper, and rolled it into a form of cigarette. the undemanding shape.

she imagined,
she felt,
she wondered,

the great feeling that emerged when one blow smoke escaped out of the stick, thought up all the life's crises gone in a blow.

just a blow.
w/n: this is my very first writing to be poured in here, I had no idea but made some notions and words collided into a piece of writing like that. I'll be so much appreciated if anyone who sees this writing wants to give a tiny response at least. xoxo.
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