My hands grip the smoke in the air
circling my fingers as though to tease me.
The endless form of vapor shapeshifts
passing through my palm,
as though my existence was a distant laughter
that does not echo
but fades away.

Again backward is everything… until, inhale
Peace in mind and body, trauma-covered veil  
Reality is shared pain like Nobara meets Shibuya
So
Animated it is fairytale, feeling numb after,
Puff puff then imagine dragons

I was raised in my father’s ill-timed
           old ways: as a man saying how he feels,
           was like ash in his ashtray. And I had
           smoked up a few reasons of not finding
           certainty; but instead finding answers in
           all addictions as a troubled youth.

I remember looking for a quick fix,
          like a constant broken clock—
         without a lot of time.
         As it felt better not to admit to why I
         was crying secretly at night, and instead
         going around faking all of my smiles.


As I never once felt like I could fit an
        ounce of myself in my family, and
        sometimes the thought of being a
        mistake would be a thought I’d accept
        so gladly.
“I’ve been a fool, I’ve been a ******,
           I’ve been an idiot, I’ve been a coward,
           and I’ve been less than a good friend,
           Feeling less of myself most times, in
           saying I don’t amount to anything”—
           were all of the things plaguing my head.

I’ve been so sick of love,
          pretending to have known it as much
          And to my luck, I’ve been unlucky enough
          to know the way I lived felt like a vortex,
         cos it always ******.

Sprung out on how I forced my appearance,
        sitting on bottled emotions, ignoring
        how I’m really feeling— all thought
        to show a man in their great zealous.
        Such a lie it was; and a door to the
        knowledge of depression, that I tried to
        hide so well, with years of experience.

Cause I was taught,
          “real men don’t show their feelings”
           Still what are these feelings, I’m feeling?

Feeling sad, depressed, a mess,
          who can’t confess that sometimes
          he's a mess and not always at his best.
          Still, self-perfection isn’t what the
          whole world expects. And unless this
          boy chooses not to digress from tackling
          the feelings that have him compressed; that
          boy will only be a boy who still sits in their
          mother’s nest.

Cos no bird will truly soar where it rests—
          so would I; never be a man in this crazy
          world, by just covering up all of my sores
          in my heart with a bulletproof vest. I
          already swallowed up those bullets; choking
          up on all of the words of, not saying
          what’s beating at my chest.

Today, today marks the day,
          I threw out that **** ashtray.
         Cos the ash in that tray, made me feel
         like, the *** of the day. And I refuse to
        do the donkey-work, of pretending that
         I’m always okay.

        No, I'm not okay, because I’ve spent
        my life being burnt by the scorching
        ash, in that old ashtray.

                          It’s time for healing.

The art is hiding behind one pretence or another, for surely it cannot be both of these? Hidden things cannot stay hidden, for found is where beauty is. Hate. The incessant whining of an ache behind my ear, and it is like the wind whistling between glass at an ungodly hour. Like smoke between teeth. The world does not obey your thoughts, does not listen to my wishes. So tell me your name, at least one time, tell me your name so that I may place it in my mind in a place where it can live and dance and rot and forever remain, and let me say, I love you.  Love doesn't exist. It is the chemicals that are held in the heavy weight of your tears.

cigarette smoke in
my lungs bitter and burning
why do i want more

Breath comes
Slow
and
Harsh
Through a filter of
Tar and
age
Comes faster, unbidden unbound un
invited
I stood, days of old and told myself
I
was. done.
Breathing, tar.
I guess
Tar, still holds an ember
In, my, chest.

I've talked to all the ghosts in this room
They speak of memories and grievances
And we revel in how quickly this fog has turned into smoke
It bites at my lungs
And I sit and wait, my eyes on my hands
My ears on the clock
At some point, each passing second
Parallels my heartbeat
There is someone across from me
Saying it is time to let go
But what would be left of me
If this grief vanished, too
At some point, it became all I am

Until you
somehow stumbled into this room
untethering the past from all that I knew

do you hear that?
no
do you fear that ?
no
understand its near when the heat bubbles my brain
understand the tears when they flood more than rain
i can’t taste anything but raging waves
washing my face, washing our pain
cleanse, repent, until i second guess
all the compression of my fate
depression in my rays
internal divide, leave the strain in the drain
self sacrifice, smoke the demons away

you are the lit tip
of one cigarette pressed
against another
you are the reason
I burn