You can only weigh the smoke
after the ashes.

You can only measure the man
after the tears.

I am wrapped in my memories of you like a safety blanket,
The smoke seeping from your mouth is entangled in my hair,
Lingering in the clothes I stole from you,
Some kind of comfortable asphyxia.
The memories of us sitting on your couch,
Drowning in tears and whiskey,
Sobbing into your chest.
Soft music pours from your phone and your lips,
Old love songs I thought everyone else had forgotten,
The tv is on but I don’t know what’s playing.
The rain hits the grass in your backyard,
The wind rustles the curtain over the backdoor.
There’s a sadness there I can’t quite place.
It sits between us.
I don’t feel the pain I know is there,
Physical or emotional,
Despite the blood or the tears.
All I can focus on is your arms around me,
As we sit on the couch,
As I sob into your chest.
I feel your thumb brush against my arm,
The even rise and fall of your breathing.
It melts the pain while at the same time freeing it.
I like to remember us like that,
So small and so broken,
No hope at all,
But the love is overwhelming.
Through the whiskey and the tears,
Choking on the smoke,
Shivering with the wind.
All there is are your arms,
And your voice,
And your love.
In those memories it's enough,
To keep the sadness at bay,
Keep the pain away,
To fall asleep.

i have a tinder profile
will that make any difference
no it wont
i play the guitar
does anyone care NO
i am an artist
nobody gives a crap

i smoke a cigarette
OH WE LOVE YOU
DONT DO THAT TO YOUR LUNGS

i wanna get invited to one high school event
is that too much to ask for
doesn't matter
gonna **** my self anyways

Once clear, the skies, or’come by ashen mists
descend upon the land with growing doom.
Congealed, it throbs — the noxious smog persists,
wrapping the earth in its indulgent tomb.

The smoke throughout, in every guarded space,
from city, home, and table, down to cot,
until it saturates us whole. No place
is left unswayed: and thus we find all naught.

It stains the eye, the nose, it coats the tongue,
it spills into the veins of one’s own heart.
Our faces that appear like tried men hung
now only bleak despair can clear impart.

We sought a savior. Then, with all and none,
we sacrificed on altars made of stone.
We prayed to stars and moon and languid sun;
we spilt our blood, burnt bread, and laid down prone.

Our efforts still brought nothing. Just the same
impassive, tumorous, affront of cloud,
consuming men’s minds ‘til alone in name
could here the virtue Wisdom be endowed.

the smoke from my cigarette
stains
I have this smoke
all through my veins
it runs freely whenever it wants

the smoke from my cigarette stains.

the inhale is deep
and the smoke remains.
my lungs are intoxicated
and full of stains.

smoking hot
or smoking cold

I don’t care for seasons
my cigarettes taste good all year round