when my father smoked,
i was a child.
terrified by every inhale.
the thought of his tar riddened lungs was unbearable.
but he was a lost cause,
long lost to the tar stained tobacco on a stick.
I would clutch my teddy in the back seat of the car,
fearful that my lungs may ingest such vile and villainous fumes.

when I smoked I was a teen,
dragging on the stick I once feared so much.
inhaling and exhaling as if my life depended on it.
I recalled the fear of a child's eyes, myself.
so afraid of death and toxicity
but now, seventeen,
I had long forgotten my childhood wish to stay alive,
to grow up
because I had.
and while doing so had learned that life is bleak.
my tar stained lungs don't horrify me like my father's did,
they push me further,
smoking faster and harder until I may become a small pile of grey and cremated ash kept carefully within a decorated vase upon a mantle piece,
an ash tray of sorts.

smoke.

the smell of nicotine
rests on my black
graphic t-shirt.

the dwell of misery
rests on my back,
while music reverbs.

my black vans are
filthy with the weight
of pain.

a wallet,
filled with little notes.
writings from her
in my back pocket.

a very lonely bench awaits
my place as i sit and
try to out smoke
this familiar mental state.

i look out into the
water ahead, the creek’s
liquid mirror reflecting
her aura.

“oh god, not again.”

a sudden and sharp spike
of sadness runs through
me, a longing tear trails
my frozen cheeks.

then i remember him,
and how much i miss him.

i remember him calling out
for me along with mom,
and how harmoniously my
heart would pump gallons
upon gallons of hot burning
blood.

hot burning love.

i take another drag to mask
the molecules of reality
that i wish i wouldn’t have
to inhale.

i look up
at the aligning stars,
and by the grace
of the god i do not
believe in
do i tell you
that i let out a cry
so loud, that he himself must’ve
felt heaven shake.

with water flooding
my brown eyes, i
yelled and pleaded
whatever being
that could hear me
to end me, because

i tell you that
all this pain,

of missing certain people,
of longing for lost love,
of experiencing incompleteness,
of feeling so ******* unable to stand up,
of combatting the poison guilt is,

drags.

at my soul,
harder
than cigarette

smoke.

-melancholicreator

In a 5 am wonder
A nicotine dawn
A black coffee haze
And a slow song start
I think about you
Possibly thinking about me

I am your necessity and unruly desire.
You know I am your Lungs worst enemy.
Still, you won't leave me.
Thanks for that.
One day I 'll be the reason for your one of the diseases.
And you are ok with it.
Campaigns being raised to stop me, but thanks
You ignore them.
I am disturbing the environment and you are the one helping me.
At last, I wish everyone can think like you and destroy the civilization entirely.
With love,
Your Cigarette.

Black and yellow heart breaks,
dangerous knife throws and the empty bombs,
full of ;
Laughter,
Gambling,
Recognition,
Divorce.

Here comes the faceless man,
Pleased by her stretched thighs, the sweaty cigarettes she burns one after another & her thick eyes,
He says

"I want you to look ugly"

"Is that a fantasy?" she asks

"Yes," he says, "it's been a thousand years,
thirty-minute hands & 60 pills!"

"Ooooh"

"Look," he says, "I want you to set me on fire, now!" & takes a **** in an art museum behind a Picasso masterpiece.

"All right," she says, "let's wait for a while, come on back to bed!"

The faceless man instantly crawls towards a dry quiet kiss where innocence and vulgarity both are so awkwardly present...


- Samar Charulingah Godfrey

every time he puffs his cigarette
it always got me thinking
about how could he love
the smoke leaving his body
or maybe savoring its aftertaste

every time he puffs his cigarette
it makes me feel sick to think of
the smoke goes in of my body, and not his,
receiving its after-effect

every time he puffs his cigarette
i’ve always think of, that it’s his escape
like me, i’m stuck in between and
he is stuck on his suicidal state of mind
that no one could ever understand

I grieve you
the way I grieve my last cigarette
knowing I'll have another
and another
and another
but I grieve him
the way I grieve the very last
knowing I'll spend eternity
searching for
just
one
drag