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Guden Oct 7
When the wind blows
Through the drapes,
Half open.
A breeze
Comes from somewhere
To play with the smoke.
On the table
There is incense
Going up in essence.
The radio keeps talking,
And screaming
At me,
Laughing
With me?
My imaginary friends
Would call me paranoid
If I had any.
Wanderer Sep 27
The smoke licks my fingertips
as I light the cigar
a fix of nicotine on a bad day
a way to keep the bad thoughts at bay
A long pull fills my mouth
with a bitter taste of artificial grape
A low for me I guess you could call it
A hypocrite I guess you could call me
Laokos Sep 25
the last
vestiges of my
terminal romance
are sputtering out

God is blowing
smoke rings
around my heart

the people that feign
caring talk
about fish
and
the sea

one workday is
followed by
many more
of the same

and the
days off

never
last
Anna Sep 21
Men, oh the men
They burnt my version of whispering woods
Now all I can see is grey
And all I can smell is the smoke
I have ashes over my cactuses
My uncle is awake
And he is crying
Because he knows it won't go back
To how it was even if it grows again
And I'm crying
Because I know it's true.
lua Sep 21
All the acrid smoke
And dust of the world
Fills my lungs
Burning
Burning like a fire
I can taste the sulfur on my tongue
And feel the charcoal sticking to my fingertips
I look around
And all I see is a wasteland.
TD Sep 20
Billows the volcano angrily
lava spittle dribbling down his chin,
"I'm at the mercy of the clock.."
his lolling drone like a dull metronome
clanging to and fro.

Fists shake in angst
their ephemeral silhouettes
disintegrating into the miasma.

Biding our time
we are all just blowing smoke

and cancer sells.
I apologize for this. I'm not trying to be so fatalistic at all really. As humans, I feel we chase after permanence like it was something to grasp--like we have that kind of power, control. We can make good choices in life, but to say that we control outcomes entirely seems a bit conceited/foolhardy really. We can impact change, but our outcomes depend on something more, at least that's how I believe.
Sam Wickstrom Sep 18
Jittery and get it done
Heart says I'm on the run
Only building someone's dream
Saying goodbye to mine slowly
Big belly and I'm ****** cozy
Lay here and regret, go out for a smoke
I want a bigger truck and better luck
Going to buy some lotto tickets and beer

Friends all agree lets be average
Lets sit back like we don't have an itch
Nothing, no really, everything's been alright
Just going to work, getting things done you know

Baggy eyes
Persistent cough
Clicky joints
Pain in the gut pretty often
Let me get you some Tim's
Mcdonalds?
No?
How about a brand new car and a zero dollar down phone!
Bigger house
Bigger TV
Shrinking heart
Withering creativity

Weak.

Pathetic.
Sacrifice
What are most people sacrificing on a daily basis? Time and Energy
Little prizes for sitting still and wearing a smile
Sickness and at least becoming senile before you realize how much has been wasted health for money, then money for health and for more and more distractions from the loss of health

community breaking down

Sleep deprivation

What dreams? I don't even recall having them. (denial)

Time with family

depression and mental illness
The Vault Sep 17
Smoke into my lungs
Deep and painful
But breath it out as if nothing
Death a gift
Given from the smoke
But here I go
Straight into my addiction.
Tsunami Sep 15
The creak of a door,
A sliver of light
Slips and illuminates the evergreen tops.

A sigh of relief echoes between our two walls.
I hear the flick of a lighter.
An orange glow appears.
Floating about an arms length away from a dark shadow mostly hidden
behind the evergreens i always complain of.

We end up mimicking each others actions
Swimmers in a line,
Diving in at the same time.
Synchronizing the timing of raising
our separate cigarettes to
our separate lips,

It’s a small solace,
Two strangers, simultaneously trying to **** themselves just a bit quicker
The only form of intimacy we know at this point in life.

Ash, take a drag, ash, take a drag
Rinse and repeat
The wash cycle is almost over
We puff away together
Until one of us tires or hits the ****.

I once again, hear;
The creak of a door,
A sliver of light illuminates the tight knit needles.
I hear a gentle slam,
In his own way, a goodnight
we have an intimacy no one can mimic
there's a haze over her eyes
smoke fills her lungs
but instead of suffocating
she breathes in deeply
from the kiss of another
one whom she promised not to love
one who will be gone in three months
perhaps the only one she couldn't stand and yet simultaneously couldn't stand without

when his lips touch hers
it tastes of honey
and home
she laps each one up
addicted to the feeling
of sugar pouring down her throat
a lifeline connected to the sweet nectar
that feeds her very being
it swirls with the smoke
leaving a bittersweet taste on her tongue
for she is addicted to a love
that has a pre-defined ending.
I know I won't be able to handle the dead end:
when I finally crash into it, pummelling at the pace of a thousand winning horses, with the verocity of mountainous waves smashing against the rock face,
without a doubt
I'll be left
completely unrecognisable.
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