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Kaleigh Feb 2018
No Daniel, I won't listen.

Don't need your ****, just to do another one of your sinful deeds.

I grew up on main street, where the creatures really meet.

My dad is a good man, but is so far gone.

Rain hits my skin like bullets, another dream?


It's hard to remember.

Who I want to be.

Love ain't for me, I just want a cancerstick and to weep.

I travel late at night, searching for a way home.

But it's already dried in the dirt, the way your words burn, baby they hurt.


No light to guide my way, I sway in the dark, a spark flies.

My shaking eyes, I see a figure run and hide.

Bangs ring out from every direction.

I feel my stomach tighten, a sweet taste of crimson.

Oh my father, my time has come.


It's hard to remember.

Who I want to be.

Love ain't for me, I just want a cancerstick and to weep.

I travel late at night, searching for a way home.

But it's already dried in the dirt, the way your words burn, baby they hurt.


With my final breath, there was no peace.

Rain hits my skin like bullets, is it another dream?

Mother, father, please rock me to sleep, rock me to sleep.

That sweet taste of gunpowder, staining my teeth.
Mattea Marie Jun 2013
The sunlight streaming
Through the open window
Kisses my face good morning
And creeps under my eyelids
My mouth tastes like cotton
And bittersweet regret
I slide off the bed
Out from under the tangled mess
Of blankets and my innocence
A pack of cigarettes and black coffee
Beckon me
I lean over the iron balcony
Over the foreign cobbled street
A cancerstick dangling from my fingers
Wrapped around a delicate mug
His dress shirt flutters around my bare legs
In the morning breeze
Eyes closed, I feel the cigarette slipping
He rolls it coyly around his fingers
And takes a slow drag
Before leaning against the railing beside me
This stranger and I
this was the end of one of my dreams. I'm still not sure how I feel about this poem... And the dream itself.
Zoe Green Dec 2014
I knew this girl
Who use to live for a God
But now had to find her own
meaning.
We all stood outside
Flicking dreams off our American Spirits
And there she was.

Scribbling on her cancerstick
She laughed and said
You write the moment on the killer
and smoke it away.

It’s a reminder
Everything is fleeting
And kills you in the end.

I think about her a lot.

— The End —