I lit my cigarette with a candle
And I kept on smoking
Didn’t mean to
I was thinking to much

I counted every single cigarette that she put out,
without smoking,
1. I thought of her favorite shade of lipstick,
how she used it to write "*******"
on the bathroom mirror.
2. I thought of safety pins,
and the ones she chained around her neck
as a reminder,
that she didn't want to remember anymore.
3. I thought of music,
how she listened to songs on repeat,
just so she wouldn't forget that they were once her favorite,
that they might still be her favorite.
4. I thought of her hoodie,
the smell of smoke stayed with it,
and she hated it.
5. I thought of the ways she wrote out her pain,
always more poetic than it really felt,
always sweeter than it seemed.
6. I thought of every dinner that she hadn't eaten in months,
every breakfast sent down the drain,
and all those midnight snacks she cried over having.
7. I thought of her funeral,
it hasn't happened yet but she says it will be beautiful,
she's planned it herself,
she isn't planning on going to it.
8. I thought of all the notes she has written to me,
signed each one with a different name,
she wants to be someone else but doesn't know who.
9. I thought of her dainty hands,
holding her black lighter,
flicking it on and off,
rhythmic, soothing almost,
but that wasn't really her,
not rhythmic or soothing.
10. This was the last one she lit,
a girl made of smoke,
but without the smoke anymore,
now she's just a girl,
and there's nothing left to count.

Have you seen my granny?
She shoots like Johnny Wayne,
Smokes cigarettes like Garbo,
Sings like Kelly in the rain.

She's doubtless at the movies
Watching Audrey zip 'round Rome,
And wishing she were young enough
To run away from home.

My nana laughs like Rita,
Plays chess like Steve McQueen,
She smoulders like her heroes do
Up on that silver screen.

Have you seen my granny?
She loves Bogart and Bacall,
And in her dreams forever
She is blonde and six-foot tall.

He smelled like
cigarettes
and fallen angel dust,

Tragically
soft.

From the very first drag,
of newly lit sorrow,
it seemed to heal,
all my wounds.

It burned like heart break,
and died like the moon,
when the sun wakes up,
and lights my whole room.

I miss the night—
A free of charge silent treatment,
I really didn’t mind.
Because I was alone very frequent.

Nineteen-some later,
my lungs wore a frown,
I did this to cope,
when i felt nothing but down.

Say what you want,
but no one tries to help,
I’m held to the fire,
chop liver until death.

Please let this smoke,
be your very last.

Yes
I smoke
I burn my soul wrapped in a paper
So you could see that I’m burning

No one believes you’re on fire
Unless he sees the smoke

since when did holding a death sentence
in between my fingers,
become such an amazing getaway?

a sense of relief,
pulls away the weight of the world off of my chest,
leaving my lungs charcoal black,
while gazing into the stars,
head scattered with emotion,
numbing the constant sorrow.

“a cigarette won’t **** you”

i said.

but my weary heart and mourning lungs tell me otherwise,
i smoke to get away from reality,
paying attention to only the:

inhale.

exhale.

“save this broken boy”

i said.

talking to the moonlit sky,
well aware not the stars,
nor my hope will save me tonight.

i smoke my lonely cigarette,
burning it down to the filter,
just to be used and thrown away.

“i have it good”

i said.