Fitted for armor, fitted for dresses.
Learn the sword or needle's dance.
Both stained with blood.
One for war, one for flowers.
The shadow prays for a light's chance.
Small poem jotted down in my journal
The first time my lips touched a cigarette,
I cringed at the taste but I ****** and puffed the toxins anyways.
It was menthol.
I didn't know what that meant.
I didn't care.
I just wanted to be cool with my friends.
They were 14,
I was 12.
'Mature for my age'.
I had fitted in.
But was smoking that cigarette really, really worth it?
I haven't talked to those 'friends' in 6 years.
— The End —