#carcinogen
breathe in incense smoke—
swirling carcinogen,
but not my favorite.
not by far, not when
bruised lungs run in the family.
smolder, smoke, ash, original sin,
a debt i am going to make you watch
me pay. i'm always playing the victim.
i read seduction, i breathe in incense,
to maintain an innocence
i never had. it just feels so religious to self-flagellate.
i speak in tongues and don't make sense,
i try to trace myself through the guilt,
and envy jesus.
at least he had
the nails as reference.
how many times you've done this before
is about the only difference
between being a martyr and deserving it.
May 11, 2021
May 11, 2021 at 10:57 PM UTC
And what's worse
cursed
with something of a conscience
that despite being disrespected
and
***** will not let me leave.
Vulnerability
pressed
to the face of death with a smile
stretched ear to ear bowed
down
under the weight of fear.
Courageousness breaks
heavy pain. I use it against you.
Prostrate to the matrons
I begged for your courage for me.
Surprise
Surprise
Even when you hurt your loved ones
You focus on yourself
Surprise
Surprise
Even when you hurt someone you love
You protect yourself
You double down
in the name of pride.
Newsflash:
Your children are smart enough
to purposefully see
that they never procreate
if only for the world
to both act Atropos
on this overgrown
carcinogen
to humanity
and slash the path
of another hillbilly bloodline
Jun 1, 2018
Jun 1, 2018 at 3:34 PM UTC
The breath of the wind raises hairs on her neck.
She breathes out a clouded breath of whiskey fire.
Outside the venue, she kicks her shoes, waiting.
Where's the loser on the drum kit?
She knows she blows the set with her absence, but she can't
Stop tapping her heel at the wall, measuring splits in bricks
With her nicotine fingernails.
Where's She? She's such a *****
The whole day closes in, in an instant, night descends.
Her twentieth cigarette dances in a rush to end it,
But her eyes catch sight of the mauve and indigo sky through
Buildings over bridges. Twilight ignites her quarter candlestick.
Outside the venue she kicks her shoes, waiting.
Outside her lonely lungs drink carcinogen
to an eager death with smokers. Cough.
Cough cough cough
Cool as ice.
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 6:54 PM UTC
I raise the bone up to my two juicy lips
and I purse.
Here comes the carcinogen, the miasmic smoke,
the old ghost.
But, my
love,
it's not like it
was.
My love,
it's
not like it was.
I pick into the basalt black, like a boss.
I exhale,
mining verses from my vernacular
like
poisonous
metal.
But, my
love,
it's not like it
was.
It's nothing like it was,
and I'm perfectly fine.
In a manner of speaking.
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 11:05 PM UTC