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By: Jack Wilder (Ramon Carlos T. Castillo)

Inhale, exhale— I make a long trail,
Like writing the lines of which you love to read,
A call of the aching heart,
Are seen through the words my soul would bleed.
With my hard work, your mind I feed.

And I think about it— life,
So I pick one, straighten it up,
And ignite the inspiration coming from within me,
As I show you the light through paper, pen, and nicotine,
In return, you fuel my perseverance,
And give meaning to my existence.

Such a long trail it is— life,
I think to myself as I puff off a trail of smoke into the night,
The smoke of which is a lot like life,
Long all at once— and gone in one blink.
Dear All Smoking Writers,
And of course non writers who smoke.
"You have cold turkey." They said
I never knew what they meant by that.
"I have no such thing; I'm a vegetarian."
They said it has nothing to do with meat though...
Yes I'm cold and shivering,
But why 'cold turkey'?
"Your skin feels clammy: like a turkey." They said,
But I wouldn't know; never eaten one in my life.
This poem is a response to another poem I wrote called "You're like my own personal brand of ******."
I hate to say what's already been said,
Yet I feel it necessary to do so;
"You're like my own personal brand of ******."
The more you give of yourself to me,
The more I need.
And then when you go,
With no warning,
I am left alone to deal with the shakes,
The trembles,
This cold turkey that you have left me.
I wish i could quit you cold turkey.
you are a form of escapism
and i am seeking sobriety
please please sweet addictions let go of me..
-Cihannah F.-

— The End —