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alaska jade Nov 14
Our love, a match
You, a Marlboro evening
We share every warm sunset.
I'm not sure when we'll finally burn out but at least I'll have the ashes to prove that we really, really, did try.
You, a lighter, ignite my flame
let the sparks never die.
After all this time still wishing and wishing upon shooting stars for you
my one true love.
aL Nov 2018
Cigarette **** kisses my lips
In smoke's touch
I feel relaxed
You're the match
Lighting up my vice
Killing me softly
Inhale your toxicity
Exhale the life out of me
I loved it.
sunshine in my night
Nightmare in my daydream
i've been searching for a feeling
and oh, what a feeling
a kiss that will taste like Marlboro Gold and Captain Morgan at 2 in the morning
a touch that will feel like red silk on my skin
a voice that sounds like my favorite song
something, anything that will make my heart feel full
make my stomach get butterflies
make my head spin in a whirl
but i cant even smoke a cigarette without longing for you
i cant take a shot of whiskey without thinking of you
i cant listen to my favorite song without reaching out for you
and all i want is a ******* Marlboro Gold
Guen Sy Sep 2016
i create sparks with my thumb
thatll light you up
its a slow burn
but then I continue
as i inhale from your tip,
& start to consume u
in between my lips
i will finish u
like my favorite cigarette

- red
maura Jun 2016
you knew i hated cigarettes,
so you started smoking a pack a day.
eleven minutes of life
being stolen with each stick.
you were always afraid of commitment,
but don't you know?
death prefers long-term relationships.
this is a poem i initially wrote two years ago and rewrote last semester about a boy i am no longer in love with. the irony of this poem is that my current boyfriend smokes cigarettes.
undefined Aug 2015
the burning tip of your half-smoked cigarette
is the light at the end of my dark tunnel
// i found love where it wasn't supposed to be: right in front of me //
undefined Aug 2015
you smelt of
nicotine and wild dreams
tapping your feet
to the music inside your head
that no one else could hear

& as you put away your box of cigarettes
i couldn't help but wonder
what it would be like
for you to be more addicted to me
than to *your marlboros
// oh love, we want the ones that we will grow to hate //
Meg B Aug 2015
Tap tap tap*
goes her hand as she
rattles her box of cigs,
packing 'em in before
she hungrily rips off the
cellophane.
Her eyes lustfully stare
at the untouched pack
as she contemplates how it will
taste to put one in her mouth.
Although the Surgeon General
has adequately warned her otherwise,
she slides her fingers around
her chosen poison,
eagerly putting it to her lips.
The lighter clicks, and flames
quickly lap up the tobacco and its
chemical casing.
She inhales, and the raggedy breath
reverberates in her chest,
a sick pleasentness seeping into her veins.
Nothing has ever
felt better, as blood rushes
to her head and her muscles relax.
She lights up one after another
until the pack is gone,
and the cycle begins again;
an inner debate where her head
tells her to leave the addiction behind,
but her heart and body, starting to feel
lonely and withdrawn, insist on another
pack to dull the creeping emptiness.
So back to the corner store she goes,
as he waits behind the counter,
ready to give her another taste of feigned and
unhealthy comfort,
for it's better than being alone,
sober,
and without him.
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