It is your choice It is your choice It is your choice It is your choice
I love you not when you smell of smoke.
It's ******* me to see her relapse after ten years. Just because she wanted to. It's hard to live in the same house as someone who smokes. She knows the smell alone makes me sick. She knows she could die young due to lung cancer. And she chooses the high over me and her health
What do you when you start to feel like you can’t breathe again? Your chest gets heavy, and a simple inhale hurts so bad a tear twinges at your eyes. My chest, my lungs heaving as if I ran ten miles, but here I am sitting on my bed in the dark grasping at my chest, the burning of a decade of cigarettes beating me down to the point of where if I try to stand my knees would give and I would lay an empty puddle on the cold hard floor.
This sadness starts out like sitting on a balcony in the evening and its cold so you slightly shiver but not cold enough to freeze wraped in a blanket holding a warm mug of coffee and lighting a cigarette, or two, or five coffee is bitter with half tea spoon of sugar and full fat milk then suddenly your mug is empty and the ceramic feels cold on your skin - there is no more cigarettes to light all thats left is a blanket that slowly slides off of your body and now you are Freezing
Nothing is sweeter than waking to the silence of snow of the movements your chest makes before the closed-eye smile stirs the ancient Woman in me. I crawl into your arms like stepping into the sunshine abyss of my childhood like conjuring the music of my sister’s laugh like conjuring the dead. Some mornings I wake so full of love that it takes all of my strength to keep my chest from hallowing my ribs from cracking. At 6 a.m. on a snow-covered lawn the revelation of love accompanies a cigarette and cup of watered-down coffee. All of the words you whisper my porch cowboy are stuck to me on a morning so unaware of its own beauty.
she was your wife she misses you she doesn't want to just be the smoke from your lungs escaping into the winter air but what i fear is that im the cigarette that you bring to your lips then toss out the window when you're finished.