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mk 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 //
mk 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lonely and withdrawn, insist on another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.
Scribo-Dolorum Apr 2015
“I want to buy a pack of Marlboro reds and smoke them one by one.
Twenty little friends to calm my nerves.
Twenty times I’ll count which memories I’m burning away.
I’m dizzy from the nicotine, but thinking more clearly now.
There’s a sick satisfaction
in killing yourself slowly.
I want to understand the songs
about needing a smoke.”
1:34 p.m, Monday, March 9, 2015
- j.d
Liza May 2013
The smell of *** lingers
on my damp skin
as I sit silently on the porch,
watching as the ashes of the
burning cigarette in my hand
disappear into the wind.

I take another drag,
the smoke veiling
my face as I exhale.

I discard the spent Marlboro
and continue to stare into
the indecipherable blackness.

It is during times like this
I become inherently aware
of how alone I really am.
blklvndr Jul 2014
I keep my ibuprofen in a Marlboro box
hidden deep beneath the pages of books that ever so kindly let the time pass by.


I take my ibuprofen two at a time
because they always used to tell me “good things come in twos..”

I guess that was true before I met you.


I swallow my ibuprofen with anything I can find because substances like this are highly divine, one of a kind.
Conor Letham May 2014
Could you hold me up-
right, left to sit and stare
though your sifting smoke
columns like a spinal wisp,
wasting away time in your

beautiful lungs. I like to in-
hale the cast-away smiles
you hang over me, into me,
my mind lost in taste to how
your chest is as mild as May.
"Philip Morris launched the Marlboro brand in 1924 as a woman's cigarette, based on the slogan "Mild As May". In the 1920s, advertising for the cigarette was primarily based around how ladylike the filter cigarette was, in an attempt to appeal to the mass market. To this end, the filter had a printed red band around it to hide lipstick stains, calling it "Beauty Tips to Keep the Paper from Your Lips"." - Wikipedia, Marlboro_cigarette
kenzo May 2014
Marlboro Red,
under the comfort of my 2 fingers,
pointed towards the blue obre sky sprinkled with scanty dead stars.
The darkness of the night comforts me,
the wind kisses my face.
I'm so tired of being a human in this human race.
The smoke in the sky still lingers, like the craving for a beer or three.
I should have been asleep hours ago,
but the more I stare at the sky, the more stars appear to me.
I'm a lot like one, did you know?
Already dead but still glowing.
I'm not afraid at all. I'm ready to go.
I'm tired of not knowing.
i Mar 2014
and here you are, again.
in this dimly lighted bar,
surrounded by middle-aged men
who only want to mess with you.

with your marlboro cigarette in hand,
and your expensive, 100$ whiskey on the counter,
you think you figured life out.

*life is just about to begin,
honey.

— The End —