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There’s a thick cloud of smoke inside my head
I’m trying to escape but I can’t find an exit
I cover my mouth but it finds a way in
The noxious fumes are all too familiar

They drift and they shift like a menacing shadow
They hang and weigh heavy like a man in the gallows
And the more I try to search from within
The more I begin to helplessly sink

A lost puppy
looking for a master
But I was, I was
Copyright Barry Pietrantonio
Patterson Jun 2020
I would claim that I've been lied to
say that I have been wronged
tell you that I didn't deserve it.
But I did.

I was born with hooked claws
and sharp teeth. Black eyes
and a scaled hide
the chains around my neck clink and tap
against the spines I've grown
If you look close enough I'll sprout horns
perhaps lightning will crackle
in the corners of my mouth.
Can you see me for what I am?
A miscount, a fatal error
something bound for hell mistakenly wrapped
and hidden in human skin.

I still smell like smoke, and I still taste like war
I deserve no mercy and kindness will **** me.
What a stupid thing I have been,
to convince myself that I was anything other
than a car crash and a hurricane
In human skin.
My sin was to love and break with the same hands
to admire that which I would defile
and to trust those who promised sanctuary.
Under the guise of friends
they penned my story,
gave me my name, cast my role:
A Villain
A devil
And so I'll stretch my blackened lips
run my tongue over my teeth
and smile with the tears running down my cheek.
"hail satan"
March 28th and already I wasn't feeling like myself. Already I was feeling like I deserved to be treated this way. Unlovable and dangerous. But now it's June 18th and I'm beginning to accept that making a mistake doesn't make you a monster. Needing help doesn't make you an inconvenience
Max Neumann Jun 2020
it's cold in here
red frost, cowboys are shivering
worn-out guys

smoky faces
loners
dancing on puddles

slippery floor of memories
posters of dead ghosts on the walls
mirrors don't reflect the cowboys

their shadows are transparent
the piano man takes them on a journey
24/7
Today is a good day.
Breanna Lowney Jun 2020
As we sit here and strain our brains
Imagining, how could such inane things
Be defined, as anything other than profane
Could it be I'm just insane, or
Are the details only but a distant memory
Traces of strange faces
Faint images of kinfolk, who joke
An old trace of what's unseen by thee
Estranged behind the smoke
Take it in then make it float
And now they're awoke
Weather welcomed or snook in
No matter if they mock or mope
They maintain the design
Between an invisible line
Called what they let us see
And what we spoke
How astonishingly wicked it may seem to be, to recognize such hard to explain queries
Transmitted from one form to the next
Disintegrate, then reshape and rise as planned
Organized thoughts followed by polluted fog
As it settles in the middle looking back at us
Either their sinister or they giggle
as we gaze into their crystal ball of vapory expressions
Process of breakdown tries to take you down
With impossibilities hard to even speak about
Safe to say we all agree to keep it in order
Leave it be so recovery won't need to be
One two three, therefore you see
This design ranks mighty high somewhat like glee
Major factor in this, isn't the higher I get
It's as I inhale each hit I am being equipped with heightened senses Relentless against outside interference
Considering element of time restraint
Likely to influence hindrance on today's to do list
Which will warrant such mental analysis Wit thought intelligence, hah
Being is such a mere fragment of life
Inside imagination, any privileged would and will see eye to eye while undercover Patiently waiting for the perfect exit, or is it entrance
Be it coming or leaving its a secret
Shh.. please aint no repeating this
Yes you're on the guest list
And I suggest you stay in line
There is no set order, in which we smolder
To set trapped souls free as we breathe

Breeze May
Strung Jun 2020
Orange flowers
Catching all the hills on fire
Just to see them burn, I take a breath.
Smoke and dust bind my righteous life underneath my eyelids.
Blindness.
dailythoughts May 2020
Lit
Don't clear the smoke
Let me be in the smog of what-ifs
In my la-la land
I shall live my best life
In the heat of the blunt
I will live in the moment
Intoxication
Manda Kolav May 2020
Tweet tweet! what a beautiful bird I am,
The sun a yellow comb, strokes
My little juniper tree and me.
La-dee-da.

I’ll fly across
The stone yew and its chuffing
Fugue.

I’ll watch the
Shotgun wedding of
smoke and leaves.

I'll watch their breathes
Catch and stumble
While the chimney boys sing
And the choir boys weep.
La-dee-da.

Filthy bird song! They shout
Like bullets.

As I fall onto my mother's nest.

She’ll unfold her downy hands
And there in the tickled pits of her palms,
Will splutter and wail
A filthy black bird
With its filthy smoked cloak

And
Her eyes will glaze,
Returning my dismal hums. She
Will fetch a shiny name for me
In the cracks of bourgeois cobble.
****!

And it will all just be a joke
La-dee-da

And I will be a joke
La-dee-da

And I will stretch my wings
and

drown.
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