spilled butane from a refilled lighter
heat lightning in the humid air
cigarette butts in a ***** cupholder

— not sure if this is still your number. part of me hopes it isn’t.

hand-me-down jeans that don’t fit anymore
bleach fume-induced headaches
burnt plastic setting off the fire alarm

— i’m leaving soon. i won’t promise i’ll be back.

overgrown grass from 8 days of rain
singed skin over a candle’s flame
rotting meat at the bottom a trash can

— death doesn’t discriminate. i know that now.

I sat staring down at my seltzer
he was angry
he was disappointed
I use to call him mine
he calls me his
but he gave me nothing to be certain of
no job
no date night
all was flowing by nature
never to nurture
none

between me and you
*******  
the world can see
nothing new
no love
no care
only when he's there

he'll stay close
till he leaves me alone
with no warning
he stays close though
to know what he wants to know

he tells it how it is

no **** for you
I am the smoke you blew
straight through
away the only thing
I never really knew
you never grew

Gone again
there I go
there he goes
blocking my nutrients
thinking I needed them
no
I water my own
I grow

Billows of fog
are quickly creeping in,
white as smoke, forming
into a wavy set of steps
suspended...quivering,
and now beckons to me,

a soft voice calls my name
tells me not to be afraid...that it's
okay to climb the foggy stairs,
"i'll be there to meet you at the top,"
the voice assured me...

i must see the owner of the soft voice,
i feel i know him...he knows me well!
my right foot hesitates...but rises,
to take a step...

suddenly, a blow on my right arm
makes me open my eyes 👀 👀

my sister, sound asleep,
turns to my side, and
accidentally hits my arm
just in time,
:::::::::::::::
i was dreaming of my late father,
.................................again.


sally b

Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
February

A man sits in a church, his cigarette aflame
And his eyes glow with the light of sin and fire.

He inhales the burning stench of pride and Carcinogens,
Fingers reaching for yet another from his
Pack of plenty.

“Where is this god?”

He asks the voiceless air and the staring
Cardboard cutout of Jesus Christ.

“Where is your shame?”

Replies the omniscient and aching voice of
Our lord and savior.

The man in the church takes another drag of his
Cigarette.

Love is so beautiful
But so temporary
Leaving me grasping for another breath
So still and defined
But so volatile
Dissapering after a moment
Like smoke from my cigarette
Leaving me wanting more

a stranger points to a smoke sign and asks if i smoke; i say no
now that stranger is a friend and my no is a sometimes
and i wonder if it was a warning when he said that smoking was bad.

had i known, i would have answered the anxiety is worse and the cancer can't really **** me when i already feel dead inside.
instead, i waved him off with a laugh that meant "i know. isn't it obvious?"

...

the rot caught up to me two years later, outside the same bar where i'd pestered another friend into putting down a box.
it was a betrayal then, when i brought the sick to my lips and inhaled the poison.
it was a betrayal again when he found out.

i tried to appease the scolding,
argue that i've stopped smoking.
would it be a betrayal now to say
"i still think of rot and decay"?

As you breathe out
I **** in
Wondering
Where all my life
have you been?