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K 6d
Cig
Cig.
Hit my throat like a boxer,
Smoke my lungs out,
Then open my mouth like a skunky VW bus-
Pick my brain up,
Light up.
Swirl up into the sky,
Adamant you're worth it to die.
A tick and a click are rhyming up in a lame flame,
A thick stick of dry herb is the flame's aim,
That starts to burn and blatter in a burring pain,
Framed by a grey fog, hiding its disdain.


The mere pain of life urges this hateful act,
Looking for more pain pack by pack,
Claiming if there's no stop, I want more of that,
Waiting and feeling and waiting and feeling,
The sniff-by-sniff approaching Death.
First year of smoking.

05.11.2018
Tsunami Sep 15
The creak of a door,
A sliver of light
Slips and illuminates the evergreen tops.

A sigh of relief echoes between our two walls.
I hear the flick of a lighter.
An orange glow appears.
Floating about an arms length away from a dark shadow mostly hidden
behind the evergreens i always complain of.

We end up mimicking each others actions
Swimmers in a line,
Diving in at the same time.
Synchronizing the timing of raising
our separate cigarettes to
our separate lips,

It’s a small solace,
Two strangers, simultaneously trying to **** themselves just a bit quicker
The only form of intimacy we know at this point in life.

Ash, take a drag, ash, take a drag
Rinse and repeat
The wash cycle is almost over
We puff away together
Until one of us tires or hits the ****.

I once again, hear;
The creak of a door,
A sliver of light illuminates the tight knit needles.
I hear a gentle slam,
In his own way, a goodnight
we have an intimacy no one can mimic
You smelled like cigarettes and coffe,
But you probably don't smoke.
there is
       something
             so comforting
about the
                         smokey
          smell of
                                           cigarettes
                                                       saturating the soul
first thing in the morning
                                              especially when
it’s on his
                  breath
                               and he’s
                                                kissing your nightmares away
Jaxey Aug 22
You held the paper
between you lips
and inhaled

I've never
Been so jealous
Of a cigarette
It should have been me
this is a habit that I know I must stop,
inhaling and exhaling the fumes around the clock.
but I couldn’t really help it because,
it’s the only way I could think of doing
to somehow feel your presence back.
you smoked all the time, and the scent of cigarette makes it feel like you’re still here.

17 August 2019 - Trending (thank you all!)
xxx Sep 17
Skinny inhale
On my cigarette
In the dark
In the light
Of the ashes
On the floor.
fray narte Aug 8
This is an apology to my younger self
for letting her forget the ixora bracelets
tucked in her tattered notebooks;
for letting her blur the outline of Artemis’ body
resting the edges of a waxing moon.
This is an apology for the poetry
and the songs she tuned out
that could’ve saved her life.
This is an apology for allowing her
to stop hearing the midnight stories
of the souls who get lost in unknown towns
concealed beyond
the gaps in their ribs;
for allowing her to stray too far
from mountain-and-sea sunsets
that she can no longer smell
the salty air
and remember the color
of the twilight skies.

This is an apology for allowing her to fall out of love
with the things she wanted
to stay in love with —
for allowing her to fall out of love
with the things that kept her alive.

This is an apology —
for peeling the tattoo scabs
between the drags on a cigarette,
for sleeping drunk on a pile of ***** laundry,
for wanting to keep
the dreamers in the rye,
and yet falling off the cliff
two pages before the ending.
This is an apology for writing her dreams
in a bottle and throwing it out
into the open ocean;
now those dreams
are nautical miles away,
lost in the domes
of a sunken city.

This is an apology to my younger self
for all the things she wanted to be
that I never became —
and an apology
for all the things I am
that she never wanted to be.

And yet, this too is a promise to her
that it’s okay:
it’s okay to lose yourself
in places you don’t like.
It’s okay to wake up and find yourself
confined in a body
you no longer seem to know.
It’s okay, darling;
someday, you’ll find your way back.

I’ll find my way back.

We’ll find our way back
to who we’re supposed to be.

And it’ll be home.
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