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Nikita May 18
As you breathe out
I **** in
Wondering
Where all my life
have you been?
annh Jun 3
π™±πšŽπš—πš, πš’πš—πšπšŽπš—πš
πš†πš’πšπš‘ πš‘πš˜πš˜πšπšŽπš πšœπšπš’πš•πš•πš—πšŽπšœπšœ,
π™·πš’πšœ πšπš’πš—πšπšŽπš›πšπš’πš™πšœ πšœπšπšŠπš’πš—πšŽπš πš‹πš•πšŠπšŒπš” πš‹πš’ πšπš’πšπš›πšŠπšπšŽπš πšπš’πš–πšŽ;

π™»πšŠπš™πšœπšŽπš πš‹πšŽπšπš πšŽπšŽπš— πš™πš•πšŠπšπšŽπšœ 𝚘𝚏 πšπš•πšŠπšœπšœ πšŠπš—πš πšŒπš˜πš™πš™πšŽπš›,
π™Όπš’πšœπšŽπš•πš πš πš’πšπš‘ πšœπš”πš’πš— 𝚘𝚏 πšŠπš•πš‹πšŠπš— πš–πšŠπš›πš‹πš•πšŽ,
π™±πš•πšžπšŽ πš’πš›πš’πšœπšŽπšœ πš‹πšžπš›πš—πš 𝚝𝚘 πšœπš–πš˜πš”πšŽ.

β€œI’m a student of light,” Louis said.
β€œAnd a poet.”
β€œNo, I leave that to Charles Baudelaire. My job is to capture things before they disappear.”
β€œAm I going to disappear, Monsieur Daguerre?”
- Dominic Smith, The Mercury Visions of Louis Daguerre
deadhead May 7
dancing in the air,
i fell in love with the smoke
mysterious shroud
Snipes May 4
I exhale,
The cold breath
Flys my soul out from my enclosed vessel
for half my life I can feel alive

I inhale,
The warm smoke
Hugging me tight for what seems like eternity
for half my life belongs too abeyance’ sea
rig Apr 30
i am subway air;
my undergroundness apparent in your lungs
your runningaway
Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β  your eyes i forgetα΅—α΅˜Κ³βΏ α΅ƒΚ³α΅’α΅˜βΏα΅ˆ
and my family of trains and
Β Β  silence.
ᡗʰᡉʸ α΅ˆα΅’βΏβ€™α΅— ᡍᡒ ᡗᡒᡍᡉᡗʰᡉʳ α΅‡α΅˜α΅— ʰᡉʳᡉ αΆ¦ ᡃᡐ.

i don’t take after the transportation: i am poised poison
and my hands hold all the words i have
ever opened my mouth forα΅ˆαΆ¦Κ³α΅—αΆœΚ°α΅’α΅α΅‰αΆœα΅’α΅˜α΅Κ°α΅α΅ƒΛ’α΅–.

but i dance, too. everywhere. in everyone.
places and people who are not youα΅—α΅˜Κ³βΏ α΅ƒΚ³α΅’α΅’α΅’α΅’α΅’α΅˜βΏα΅ˆ.
i can’t help it. i have no choice.
they are here, and…

and when i am tired: i stop and just am.
for however long it takes my memory to paint
something small and heavy
the lines of past decisions
the shadows of living trees
in a forest of dead ones
the shapes of a thought i once had
the color of that moment
ⁿᡒⁿᡉ, α΅‡α΅‰αΆœα΅ƒα΅˜Λ’α΅‰ ᡐʸ ᡉʸᡉ˒ Κ·α΅’α΅˜Λ‘α΅ˆ ʰᡃᡛᡉ ᡇᡉᡉⁿ αΆœΛ‘α΅’Λ’α΅‰α΅ˆ
the movement of that glimpse
of infinite imagination that i
once made my religion.
once.

then: i stop stopping. i wake up from nosleep.
i look around and i cannot find you.

⁽ᡃ ᡗʳᡃᢦⁿ αΆœΚ³α΅ƒΛ’Κ°α΅‰α΅ˆ α΅ƒβΏα΅ˆ ᡗʰᡉ ˒ᡗᡃᡗᢦᡒⁿ αΆœα΅ƒα΅›α΅‰α΅ˆ ᢦⁿ α΅‡α΅˜α΅— ΚΈα΅’α΅˜ ʷᡉʳᡉ ⁿᡒᡗ ᡒⁿ αΆ¦α΅— Λ’α΅’ ᡗʰᡃᡗ αΆ¦Λ’ α΅α΅’α΅’α΅ˆβΎ

…ʰᡉˑˑᡒˀ
The corners singed
Smoke rising
It was on too long
So not surprising
Next time I won't read:
The email, the text, or the
Instagram message.
Tomorrow I'll forget
I'll flick the switch
And my mind will drift
Like a balloon sailing out to sea
And once again burnt toast
Will be waiting for me
©️ 2021 Joshua Reece Wylie. All rights reserved.

I burnt the toast again tonight. Good thing. A poem came of it.
Raven Feels Apr 5
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, quit smoking it is very bad;}


drags of sorrow in the remained smokes fade into the air

greeted with lies and faked lines


                                                                                       ------ravenfeels
LC Apr 3
I walk along a trapeze,
palms sweaty, legs shaking,
refusing to fall either way.
to go left is to fall into a fire
for a life which burns my bones.
the people will smile upon me,
oblivious to the ash surrounding them.
to go right is to fall into soft trees.
the leaves caress my skin,
but the people vanish like smoke,
and I fall to the ground.
the exact middle is survival
until I reach the other side.
#escapril day 2!
My city sings like a siren
Its brash tenor, an incisionΒ 
Fading into mundane life

My city rises like smokeΒ 
From a freshly lit cigarette
Until the sickness sets in Β 

My city mourns like a lover
Begging for more time
Before the flame subsides

My city trembles like a sinner
Before a godΒ 
Indifferent to her pain
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