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Lauren Pascual Oct 2018
seated at the backseat
with our song on repeat
she reached for a stick
inside the back pocket
of her faded denim jeans
i heard a familiar flick sound
only to see a lighter on her hand
silence fell upon us
not knowing what to say
i glanced around
trying to find an excuse
not to continue to blatantly stare at her
still, she is all i see
through my peripheral vision
savoring the smoke
letting it all fill her lungs
puffing,
inhaling
yes, a stick could ****
sooner or later
if no one dares to stop her
but what if she's already dying inside?
or what if she's just doing this
to fight the demon
who made its way inside her soul?
chained her heart
no plan of letting it go
i may have seen her burned her throat countless times already
yet, it still feels like the first time
her thin lips pressed against the filter
how i wish it was my lips, instead
Amanda Jun 2018
Inhaling clouds of smoke each day
My head feeling ****** up
Wondering why I always see *****
When I look inside my half-empty cup

Want more than bottles and grams
Than band-aids, pills, and glue
I'm searching for peace; a permanent fix
That heals, not covers up, pain in me and you.
Written 3-24-18
Mother,
The epitome of love.

A star made of combustion
Of crimson and wild blue.
Her smile like a cresent
shining bright
from an afar Galaxy.

Mother,
Vibrant as sun rays,
And soft like the moonlight.
Tremendous as lightning,
enlightning the dark sky
with a spark.

Mother,
The paintbrush
that paints vibrancy
on the dullest of days.

Mother,
A soul that burns with ferocity,
Whos hands are always busy
scrubbing, moulding, cooking
But her touch always caressing with love.

Mother,
Who's voice can be the ocean
Calming and soothing
Or as loud as the seas
Roaring and crashing in a storm
bursting away personal confinement.

But she rows
Even through the sea of troubles.
Nothing is too heavy
She marches on.

Mother,
Who sacrifices and compromises
To deepen skies
and hand stars to hold.

Mother,
Who's love I cannot comprehend and stomach
For she grows flowers from pain,
Inhaling O2
And Exhaling O3
Transfiguring weeds into garden for us to play.

She is the incarnation of love.
Hillary Gurney Mar 2016
I love you today,
I'll love you tomorrow,
I have loved you yesterday,
I'll love you forever,
You're my drug,
My perfect addiction,
My personal brand of marijuana,
Kissing you is like inhaling the trees,
Hugging you is like letting go of the ease,
Being with you is nothing but relaxation,
As I took another puff of you,
Holding onto the memories,
You make my life so high up,
High up in the clouds,
As I fly like a kite,
Pushing me to do better of myself,
To get a job,
To improve more,
Smoking you to taste the buds,
The craves are more now,
Than ever before,
As I want to get high once more,
To take another puff of you,
To feel the feels,
To love you,
You're my personal brand of marijuana,
My personal addiction.
Copyright ©Hillary Gurney March 1,2016

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