#cigs - Hello Poetry

I hold the lighter to light up her cigarette and as I see her silhouette in de dark, I wonder can I also light up her life like that, can I make it better can I be a small, bright light.

0

Sep 21, 2020

Sep 21, 2020 at 6:48 AM UTC

itwouldfeellikethis

a bright light

I hold the lighter to light up her cigarette and as I see her silhouette in de dark, I wonder can I also light up her life like that, can I make it better can I be a small, bright light.

7

I romanticize the smell of cigs because I want destroying myself to be something beautiful and graceful.

0

Sep 20, 2020

Sep 20, 2020 at 5:11 AM UTC

itwouldfeellikethis

alive

I romanticize the smell of cigs because I want destroying myself to be something beautiful and graceful.

3

I used to buy over priced Cigarettes, To mask my pain and regrets. I'd pack them on the dashboard of my car, Like a man who beats a women until his hands scar. I'd open my pack, before my withdrawals would attack. Rip off the plastic and remove the foil, Carefully like you'd place a crown on someone royal, Pull out the first cigarette by the filtered tip, I made sure not to forget to flip, As I put the cigarette back, I pull out another by the filter from my pack.

0

Jun 5, 2018

Jun 5, 2018 at 10:42 PM UTC

GodDamnItCat

Luckys

I used to buy over priced Cigarettes, To mask my pain and regrets. I'd pack them on the dashboard of my car, Like a man who beats a women until his hands scar. I'd open my pack, before my withdrawals would attack. Rip off the plastic and remove the foil, Carefully like you'd place a crown on someone royal, Pull out the first cigarette by the filtered tip, I made sure not to forget to flip, As I put the cigarette back, I pull out another by the filter from my pack.

12

I’m smoking the butts of your cigarettes; The ones you left in the ash tray during our last conversation. I’m smoking the butts of your cigarettes; Just to be where your lips have been. I’m only doing this all because I think that I need it; It’s as close as I can get to you.

0

Jan 23, 2018

Jan 23, 2018 at 8:41 AM UTC

WasteYourDreams

Cigarette butts

I’m smoking the butts of your cigarettes; The ones you left in the ash tray during our last conversation. I’m smoking the butts of your cigarettes; Just to be where your lips have been. I’m only doing this all because I think that I need it; It’s as close as I can get to you.

6

I often wish I was the cigarette you used on cold nights to calm you down and forget the pain you had. Lies sometimes come in nicotine laced toxic. I wonder if you see how every lie you tell is you committing suicide right in front of me; killing everything I see in you. Craving the voice that suffocates me, these nicotine laced lies. You being addicted to drugs, and I to you. Addicted to the taste your words leave in my mouth. There is supposed to be a difference between love and nicotine. I often wish I was that cigarette. Only then would you be letting me in. So breathe me.

0

Dec 7, 2017

Dec 7, 2017 at 12:29 PM UTC

AngelicVoid

Cigarette

I often wish I was the cigarette you used on cold nights to calm you down and forget the pain you had. Lies sometimes come in nicotine laced toxic. I wonder if you see how every lie you tell is you committing suicide right in front of me; killing everything I see in you. Craving the voice that suffocates me, these nicotine laced lies. You being addicted to drugs, and I to you. Addicted to the taste your words leave in my mouth. There is supposed to be a difference between love and nicotine. I often wish I was that cigarette. Only then would you be letting me in. So breathe me.

17

Tie your powder blue checkered sheets, and dangle them out of your splintered window frame. Wire bodies scrambling down, you and your sister, tan and loud, bringing ultra-light cigs and burner flip-phones, promising *** without the feeling of being alone. This is for the chips on your polish, much like you: red and drawn by a shaky Saturday night, where I'm your friend, unsure and twenty-two, driving through muddy water like a submarine submerged in time. The stereo shouts out Minor Threat, neon and done, are we, the naked, parked outside the park where you wrecked your bike, we threw mixtapes off the bridge, where we had fun. I can still hear our theme song beyond the headlights beyond the moans.

0

Jul 14, 2016

Jul 14, 2016 at 10:09 PM UTC

joshua-haines

Red and Drawn

Tie your powder blue checkered sheets, and dangle them out of your splintered window frame. Wire bodies scrambling down, you and your sister, tan and loud, bringing ultra-light cigs and burner flip-phones, promising *** without the feeling of being alone. This is for the chips on your polish, much like you: red and drawn by a shaky Saturday night, where I'm your friend, unsure and twenty-two, driving through muddy water like a submarine submerged in time. The stereo shouts out Minor Threat, neon and done, are we, the naked, parked outside the park where you wrecked your bike, we threw mixtapes off the bridge, where we had fun. I can still hear our theme song beyond the headlights beyond the moans.

25

Every morning I went to the coffee shop across the street from my house, because I didn’t work. For every resume I typed out, I wrote a poem, in order to keep me from sending you a text marked with a white flag. A skull was concealed in the flag, as a watermark. The sun made love to a cluster of clouds, while I rolled a cigarette using strands of your brown hair. I opened my wallet and took out a photograph of me and you from the booth that one night when you made a fire out of caskets. Your face had been glowing with warmth, as if you had drained all the light out of the sun, and had taken a shower in its yellow glow. Your eyes were bright with a hopeful future. Then you grew your hair longer, and pulled it over your eyes, like twin pirate eye-patches. But you’d said you weren’t blind, just indifferent. Today I wrote another poem on a countertop, in the coffee shop, and bandaged the wounds you gave me when you told me you never cared about me. One of the baristas wearing a brown apron and a blue baseball cap, gave me poems from James Tate. And as I read “The Lost Pilot” it started to drizzle from the ceiling. I wasn’t sure if it was rain pouring on my head, and on my poems, or if it were melted ice-cream, rich and thick in its texture, Our first date we stole vanilla ice-cream from a Giant. You stuffed it in your golden purse, and ran through the doors, as a fat security guard chased after you. Then, you hopped into my blue Volkswagen and we sped off. I was perfectly fine with being the getaway driver, you dipped a bent spoon into the plastic container and scooped out the ice-cream. You ate it hungrily. And after I took a bite, we went to the park and swung on the swings, coasting up and down in the air, vanilla stained on the front of our black shirts. Back at the coffee shop, I played the keyboard in the bathroom because I was shy, shy of you finding out, because you love piano melodies. And I guessed I wanted to play for myself for a change. I played “My Cherri Amour,” and drank gin from a flask, until every key looked like a playing card. After I played the song, I left the coffee shop ,went home, and painted our last conversation, using words from a newspaper. “It’s over.” “You were never right for me.” “You’re not mature enough for a relationship.” “I never want to see your face at Peets.” Peets was the coffee shop we would always go to, every morning, rain or shine, rested or exhausted, and I remember you would read my poems. You read my poems as if they were Daphne Loves Derby song-lyrics. Last night you texted me that my poems sounded like rushed and convoluted emails. After that I blocked you on everything, from social media to your number. I hoped we would grow weak with joy, and grey with age. Words, whether from your lips, or a text shattered the trust I gave you, as if it were my social security code. In front of the bathroom mirror, I took a pink eraser and rubbed it against my foreheard, to remove the wrinkles. Each wrinkle represented a time when you had failed me, or when I had failed you. Our failures were weights that I had balanced in my memory. Kaufman would be pleased of my progress. I wrote a sculpture with glass and tears at my desk, alone in my clean, well-lighted room. And then I took the sculpture, and buried it in my backyard, right next to the grave of my old and weak self. I smoked a cigarette using sad memories as rolling papers. As the paper burned slowly, I let the smoke fill my heart. Because my lungs were tired, tired from breathing, tired from living for you. Because you are not the only thing that matters anymore.

0

May 3, 2016

May 3, 2016 at 12:12 AM UTC

dannyartreads

Routines

Every morning I went to the coffee shop across the street from my house, because I didn’t work. For every resume I typed out, I wrote a poem, in order to keep me from sending you a text marked with a white flag. A skull was concealed in the flag, as a watermark. The sun made love to a cluster of clouds, while I rolled a cigarette using strands of your brown hair. I opened my wallet and took out a photograph of me and you from the booth that one night when you made a fire out of caskets. Your face had been glowing with warmth, as if you had drained all the light out of the sun, and had taken a shower in its yellow glow. Your eyes were bright with a hopeful future. Then you grew your hair longer, and pulled it over your eyes, like twin pirate eye-patches. But you’d said you weren’t blind, just indifferent. Today I wrote another poem on a countertop, in the coffee shop, and bandaged the wounds you gave me when you told me you never cared about me. One of the baristas wearing a brown apron and a blue baseball cap, gave me poems from James Tate. And as I read “The Lost Pilot” it started to drizzle from the ceiling. I wasn’t sure if it was rain pouring on my head, and on my poems, or if it were melted ice-cream, rich and thick in its texture, Our first date we stole vanilla ice-cream from a Giant. You stuffed it in your golden purse, and ran through the doors, as a fat security guard chased after you. Then, you hopped into my blue Volkswagen and we sped off. I was perfectly fine with being the getaway driver, you dipped a bent spoon into the plastic container and scooped out the ice-cream. You ate it hungrily. And after I took a bite, we went to the park and swung on the swings, coasting up and down in the air, vanilla stained on the front of our black shirts. Back at the coffee shop, I played the keyboard in the bathroom because I was shy, shy of you finding out, because you love piano melodies. And I guessed I wanted to play for myself for a change. I played “My Cherri Amour,” and drank gin from a flask, until every key looked like a playing card. After I played the song, I left the coffee shop ,went home, and painted our last conversation, using words from a newspaper. “It’s over.” “You were never right for me.” “You’re not mature enough for a relationship.” “I never want to see your face at Peets.” Peets was the coffee shop we would always go to, every morning, rain or shine, rested or exhausted, and I remember you would read my poems. You read my poems as if they were Daphne Loves Derby song-lyrics. Last night you texted me that my poems sounded like rushed and convoluted emails. After that I blocked you on everything, from social media to your number. I hoped we would grow weak with joy, and grey with age. Words, whether from your lips, or a text shattered the trust I gave you, as if it were my social security code. In front of the bathroom mirror, I took a pink eraser and rubbed it against my foreheard, to remove the wrinkles. Each wrinkle represented a time when you had failed me, or when I had failed you. Our failures were weights that I had balanced in my memory. Kaufman would be pleased of my progress. I wrote a sculpture with glass and tears at my desk, alone in my clean, well-lighted room. And then I took the sculpture, and buried it in my backyard, right next to the grave of my old and weak self. I smoked a cigarette using sad memories as rolling papers. As the paper burned slowly, I let the smoke fill my heart. Because my lungs were tired, tired from breathing, tired from living for you. Because you are not the only thing that matters anymore.

104

*Almost jumped off that bridge, sadly I wish I did. instead I found some relief in *** cigs, and used to help me forget, I held my breath to calm down, until tomorrow came around.*

0

Mar 25, 2016

Mar 25, 2016 at 10:01 AM UTC

GodDamnItCat

*** Cigs.

*Almost jumped off that bridge, sadly I wish I did. instead I found some relief in *** cigs, and used to help me forget, I held my breath to calm down, until tomorrow came around.*

6

I sinned today... The slow draw swept me away. I tasted such sweet nothing. Warm smoke, finished with that sting. It started with a harmless light, The toxic chemicals wrapped in white. I truly thought I was done, It was four months, since I had one. I thought I could escape its hold, Yet I find myself still clutching death in the cold.

0

Mar 21, 2016

Mar 21, 2016 at 7:12 PM UTC

christian-tae-oconnell

Sin

I sinned today... The slow draw swept me away. I tasted such sweet nothing. Warm smoke, finished with that sting. It started with a harmless light, The toxic chemicals wrapped in white. I truly thought I was done, It was four months, since I had one. I thought I could escape its hold, Yet I find myself still clutching death in the cold.

10

*Feathered head and weathered dreads, no one comes out to play with me and my imaginary friends, I promise were lots of fun, we are we are, I promise oh please, come out and play with me, were waiting to see, we wait to see your fears, and all your uncaught unsafe dreams, fall right apart, oh it'll be a blast, it'll be sweet, this nightmare dream is totally neat! don't be shy, come eat a slice of america's mini apple pie, but you're not allowed one bite, until you come outside with me and my imaginary friends! we can fake our deaths, and rob our neighbors cars for cigarettes. and if we see they don't have any left, we will just borrow the money instead! so why won't you come outside with me and my imaginary friends? but first, fly yourself on out the front door. so we can destroy the world. just you, me and my imaginary friends.*

0

Jan 22, 2016

Jan 22, 2016 at 9:54 PM UTC

GodDamnItCat

Living

*Feathered head and weathered dreads, no one comes out to play with me and my imaginary friends, I promise were lots of fun, we are we are, I promise oh please, come out and play with me, were waiting to see, we wait to see your fears, and all your uncaught unsafe dreams, fall right apart, oh it'll be a blast, it'll be sweet, this nightmare dream is totally neat! don't be shy, come eat a slice of america's mini apple pie, but you're not allowed one bite, until you come outside with me and my imaginary friends! we can fake our deaths, and rob our neighbors cars for cigarettes. and if we see they don't have any left, we will just borrow the money instead! so why won't you come outside with me and my imaginary friends? but first, fly yourself on out the front door. so we can destroy the world. just you, me and my imaginary friends.*

28

To see just how far I have come from harm I just look down at the fading scars of my arm the burn of the flame has cooled and showed me what in my psche ruled for now I’ve been schooled in emotions fooled by illusory oceans I go through the motions as spirit shows me what’s right and guides my poor eyes to sight It is imperative to fight to live with authentic shivs People cry and ask what gives? Simple thought ships neurotransmit APC clips to be played and looped with these blips, beeps, and boops Cylab v2.0 this collective insaenity has brought you a show for those who don’t know about life and love the difference between sharing a laugh or a shove gazing quietly above and be grateful not hateful towards both spirit and shameful This is a plea to understand the thoughts so disdainful so let these molecules of thought rearrange you to reconsider a few memories that stain you tie die the stain to transmogrify the pain learn to laugh learn to cry hold your friends close while you fly high but most of all never say good bye, until the day you are ready to die these are the lessons I’ve learned and the distance I have covered on my journey to become the epitome of a lover.

0

Feb 10, 2016

Feb 10, 2016 at 1:46 PM UTC

Im

RUn F33lin

To see just how far I have come from harm I just look down at the fading scars of my arm the burn of the flame has cooled and showed me what in my psche ruled for now I’ve been schooled in emotions fooled by illusory oceans I go through the motions as spirit shows me what’s right and guides my poor eyes to sight It is imperative to fight to live with authentic shivs People cry and ask what gives? Simple thought ships neurotransmit APC clips to be played and looped with these blips, beeps, and boops Cylab v2.0 this collective insaenity has brought you a show for those who don’t know about life and love the difference between sharing a laugh or a shove gazing quietly above and be grateful not hateful towards both spirit and shameful This is a plea to understand the thoughts so disdainful so let these molecules of thought rearrange you to reconsider a few memories that stain you tie die the stain to transmogrify the pain learn to laugh learn to cry hold your friends close while you fly high but most of all never say good bye, until the day you are ready to die these are the lessons I’ve learned and the distance I have covered on my journey to become the epitome of a lover.

42

Tap tap tap goes her hand as she rattles her box of cigs, packing 'em in before she hungrily rips off the cellophane. Her eyes lustfully stare at the untouched pack as she contemplates how it will taste to put one in her mouth. Although the Surgeon General has adequately warned her otherwise, she slides her fingers around her chosen poison, eagerly putting it to her lips. The lighter clicks, and flames quickly lap up the tobacco and its chemical casing. She inhales, and the raggedy breath reverberates in her chest, a sick pleasentness seeping into her veins. Nothing has ever felt better, as blood rushes to her head and her muscles relax. She lights up one after another until the pack is gone, and the cycle begins again; an inner debate where her head tells her to leave the addiction behind, but her heart and body, starting to feel lonely and withdrawn, insist on another pack to dull the creeping emptiness. So back to the corner store she goes, as he waits behind the counter, ready to give her another taste of feigned and unhealthy comfort, for it's better than being alone, sober, and without him.

0

Aug 8, 2015

Aug 8, 2015 at 11:02 PM UTC

megb42290

Marlboro Man

Tap tap tap goes her hand as she rattles her box of cigs, packing 'em in before she hungrily rips off the cellophane. Her eyes lustfully stare at the untouched pack as she contemplates how it will taste to put one in her mouth. Although the Surgeon General has adequately warned her otherwise, she slides her fingers around her chosen poison, eagerly putting it to her lips. The lighter clicks, and flames quickly lap up the tobacco and its chemical casing. She inhales, and the raggedy breath reverberates in her chest, a sick pleasentness seeping into her veins. Nothing has ever felt better, as blood rushes to her head and her muscles relax. She lights up one after another until the pack is gone, and the cycle begins again; an inner debate where her head tells her to leave the addiction behind, but her heart and body, starting to feel lonely and withdrawn, insist on another pack to dull the creeping emptiness. So back to the corner store she goes, as he waits behind the counter, ready to give her another taste of feigned and unhealthy comfort, for it's better than being alone, sober, and without him.

39

More than a few years ago I hid my mind, and have long since forgotten where I had put it. I sat on my softpack and I felt remorseful pity, because it really crushed my cigarettes. And I felt such sympathy for them, so unable to be used. Then she stood up and held out her hand, and I gratefully took the burning smoke from her fingers. As I exhaled she grew a beautiful blue halo of twirling, swirling, tinct smoke rings. 'My death angel,' thought I. Then I ashed it too hard on the brim of the ashtray.

0

Mar 27, 2015

Mar 27, 2015 at 10:10 PM UTC

Listerineyedrops

Flicking her cherry off

More than a few years ago I hid my mind, and have long since forgotten where I had put it. I sat on my softpack and I felt remorseful pity, because it really crushed my cigarettes. And I felt such sympathy for them, so unable to be used. Then she stood up and held out her hand, and I gratefully took the burning smoke from her fingers. As I exhaled she grew a beautiful blue halo of twirling, swirling, tinct smoke rings. 'My death angel,' thought I. Then I ashed it too hard on the brim of the ashtray.

19

Fate betrays you if you relax, it's not worth the risk. I'm just happy that her throat has good grip. Oh you happy lass, It'd be just lovely to watch you cry. And just make sure that you look me straight in the eye.

0

Mar 27, 2015

Mar 27, 2015 at 10:21 PM UTC

Listerineyedrops

LSMFT

Fate betrays you if you relax, it's not worth the risk. I'm just happy that her throat has good grip. Oh you happy lass, It'd be just lovely to watch you cry. And just make sure that you look me straight in the eye.

12

The front seat is full of coffin nails, Bic lighters, and mutilation. © Matthew Harlovic

0

Feb 20, 2015

Feb 20, 2015 at 12:05 PM UTC

The mere smell of cigarette smoke triggers something in my brain I can suddenly feel the kisses you left on my lips And the places you laid your hands upon sting I crave your touch I need it to survive I'm addicted to you.

0

Nov 13, 2014

Nov 13, 2014 at 5:48 PM UTC

Hearts-on-paper

Lust Left to Die

The mere smell of cigarette smoke triggers something in my brain I can suddenly feel the kisses you left on my lips And the places you laid your hands upon sting I crave your touch I need it to survive I'm addicted to you.

6

Chainsmoking cigarettes   because I’m worried of   getting lung cancer

0

Oct 18, 2014

Oct 18, 2014 at 10:58 AM UTC

rehung

Untitled

Chainsmoking cigarettes   because I’m worried of   getting lung cancer

3

i never understood smoking held my breath around the aroma said "Smoking ***** to an electronic pack of cigs I saw the chemicals in the black light I went to the funeral of my grandfather death by lung cancer But you see I think smokers don't care they're aware of the 10 minutes off of their life the poison the WARNING packaging but 10 minutes off of my life i don't care I'm too afraid to cut myself but a burning cig in my lungs is good enough for now

0

Sep 24, 2014

Sep 24, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC

yangnoyin

cigs

i never understood smoking held my breath around the aroma said "Smoking ***** to an electronic pack of cigs I saw the chemicals in the black light I went to the funeral of my grandfather death by lung cancer But you see I think smokers don't care they're aware of the 10 minutes off of their life the poison the WARNING packaging but 10 minutes off of my life i don't care I'm too afraid to cut myself but a burning cig in my lungs is good enough for now

14

I want to taste the sun on your skin And I want to feel the spark of passion light a million cigarettes between our lips There was nothing soft about the way you held me You squeezed me so tight my bones crumbled into the sea I wanted to believe we fit together like pieces of a puzzle But I was the corner and you were all the parts of the sky You are more beautiful than the milky way And more terrifying than the Pompeii Your eyes to me were bluer than the sea Deeper than the sea More mysterious than the sea Your eyes of water started a fire within me A fire within me so hot it boiled the sorrow in my lungs And charred the tips of my ribs I’m burning alive in my own skin Please don’t leave my fire burning Put me out please I beg you Please I can’t scream any louder! Please help move your hands from my throat Please my ears won’t stop ringing Suffocate the passion that chokes my soul I would rather be empty than burned to the bone Please the fire is consuming me You should have never started this fire within me If you had no intention to manage it I hope you are happy There is nothing left for anyone to love Not unless they like the smell of burning trust And that old taste of cigarettes on my mouth You were the sea You were that ****** sea That started the fire within me

0

Aug 17, 2014

Aug 17, 2014 at 10:17 PM UTC

sarah-gartner

You've Started A Fire Within Me

I want to taste the sun on your skin And I want to feel the spark of passion light a million cigarettes between our lips There was nothing soft about the way you held me You squeezed me so tight my bones crumbled into the sea I wanted to believe we fit together like pieces of a puzzle But I was the corner and you were all the parts of the sky You are more beautiful than the milky way And more terrifying than the Pompeii Your eyes to me were bluer than the sea Deeper than the sea More mysterious than the sea Your eyes of water started a fire within me A fire within me so hot it boiled the sorrow in my lungs And charred the tips of my ribs I’m burning alive in my own skin Please don’t leave my fire burning Put me out please I beg you Please I can’t scream any louder! Please help move your hands from my throat Please my ears won’t stop ringing Suffocate the passion that chokes my soul I would rather be empty than burned to the bone Please the fire is consuming me You should have never started this fire within me If you had no intention to manage it I hope you are happy There is nothing left for anyone to love Not unless they like the smell of burning trust And that old taste of cigarettes on my mouth You were the sea You were that ****** sea That started the fire within me

32

I do not want to be 18 anymore, Because all I do is buy cigarettes. & when I smoke them I think of you. I do not want to smoke Mary-Jane. Because when I'm high, I still only think of you. I do not want to get drunk anymore, Because I'm tired of hearing my friends say "She's gone," Every time I ask to speak to you. I do not want to stay awake all night, And leave cuts on my wrists, "I'm sorry," I'd say, "I was just thinking of her." I never asked for this, I try not to think about you, So all I can tell myself is, "You left her."

0

Jul 16, 2014

Jul 16, 2014 at 11:32 AM UTC

carlie-l-richardson

The First Phase of a Heartbreak, Is Admitting You're Broken.

I do not want to be 18 anymore, Because all I do is buy cigarettes. & when I smoke them I think of you. I do not want to smoke Mary-Jane. Because when I'm high, I still only think of you. I do not want to get drunk anymore, Because I'm tired of hearing my friends say "She's gone," Every time I ask to speak to you. I do not want to stay awake all night, And leave cuts on my wrists, "I'm sorry," I'd say, "I was just thinking of her." I never asked for this, I try not to think about you, So all I can tell myself is, "You left her."

15

this body aches from my mother's house from the lack of nutrition from the fresh burns but i promised I'd stop but I promised but you aren't here to stop me. I'll smoke as much **** as I need to. and fantasize about the intelligent, soft-spoken well-worded perfect everything he likes my poetry, and says it reminds him of Simon Armitage

0

May 2, 2014

May 2, 2014 at 2:51 AM UTC

blessedbylight

shakira

this body aches from my mother's house from the lack of nutrition from the fresh burns but i promised I'd stop but I promised but you aren't here to stop me. I'll smoke as much **** as I need to. and fantasize about the intelligent, soft-spoken well-worded perfect everything he likes my poetry, and says it reminds him of Simon Armitage

14