"cigarrettes" poems
I've drank a thousand beers
I've smoked a million cigarrettes
I've ate at least a hundred Twix bars
I've watched Breakfast at Tiffany's hours on end
I've flirted with every male waiter that brings me
unfulfilling dish after unfulfilling dish
I've bought weekly **** dark outfits
and I've spent my life savings
on beautiful MAC make-up and a new Legacy
and pumps I think you'd like
I've gotten my hair colored every color I can think of
I've tried being an apathetic punk, an upbeat cowgirl,
a wide-eyed polyanna, a harsh madonna, a fuck-you-feline,
an emotionally charged marilyn, and a classy Diane
I've memorized witty jokes, and roasts, and rivetting last lines
I've modeled and sang and became an athlete
I've played hard to get, I've played easy and teasy
And I've twirled my hair and crossed my legs
and learned to walk while swaying my hips
I've ran miles and kilometers and meters and
I've lifted weights and done zumba and yoga and hiked and biked and
****
There's no comfort and no getting to you.
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 1:10 PM UTC
I learned that we rush to grow up
since the day we turn fifteen
that our childhood dream
of being invisible
has turned into a terrible nightmare
that we hope to read our future
in the smoke of cigarrettes
and that we look for answers
at the bottom of the bottles
that flying means more than
throwing yourself from the roof
and floating beyond the sky
that if we stop sleeping
we would mix reality
and dreams
and sometimes that's all we need
That maybe the cure of cancer lives
inside the mind of a child
who can't afford education
that no one would behave as society demands
if we had nothing to lose
that hearts only break once for real
and that liars were once
the purest
that cold and heartless people
don't really exist
that we all have scars
maybe not in our wrists
but in our hearts and souls
or in the little universes that we create
and crumbled down
that we all had an imaginary friend
to keep us from being alone
when mom and dad used to fight
that the best poetry cones from chaos and pain
and that we use art to release our anger
because it's just art
and it doesn't worry anyone
that if each of us were a little bit kinder
less people would wish to disappear
and the world would be a better place
I understood that the books are a lot like mirrors
that we only see in them
what we already carry inside of us
that if we would send less texts
we'd know when a friend feels lonely
that we rather take pictures of the moment
than livig it with the person sitting next to us
That there are no potions to forget the pain
nor chocolates that makes us feel better
that we are all a little crazy
and we are okay with that
that happiness depends on us
and how bad we look for it
but this is just what I learned
and I don't know...
what did you ?
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 1:12 AM UTC
I wanna smoke a cigarrette with Obama
We’ll lower the sound on Futurama
He will hand me a pack of Marlboro or Newport
He will puff I will puff
Life will be like a resort
We will talk about politics and in vain
Puff again puff again puff again puff again
We would smoke and we would quit
He will swear again
For six years ”no cigarrettes lit”
I will quit smoking too
We will play peekaboo
And turn the volume back up on Futurama
I will boast to my friends
I quit smoking again with Obama
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 9:27 AM UTC
Will you ever love me
the way you love
your perfume
your cigarrettes
your diamonds.
We both know the answer
to that question
now don't we,
Mother.
-
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 4:50 PM UTC
Tiny whispers,
soft and subtle.
Bed frames,
a warming cuddle.
Soul pieces,
nose kisses,
cold feet,
one love puddle.
Confrontation,
elaboration,
dark secrets,
silent bracing.
Morning breath,
coffee grounds,
cigarrettes,
and carnal chasing.
Television,
Apple tarts,
Soft eyes,
and blunt smoke.
Crazy nights,
and tired days,
that is what I miss the most..
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 7:49 AM UTC
Black and gray *** leaf tube socks
are stretched up to his kneecaps.
They cover the rugged
saw-like shin bones that nustle themselves underneath a layer of soft, pale skin.
Beige khaki shorts, tethered and worn.
A rip in the left pocket, a hole in the back;
Cigarrettes and a ***** empty, leather wallet reside in the other two.
A hint of a minty, floral perfume, emanating from the cotton fibers of his tattered, black, t-shirt, remind him of the long, arduous night that had past.
Clouded and confused, liqour infested, and hardly satisfied. He stumbles through the morning dew covered grass, etching a new path home.
He feels no regret, no remorse. Only an uninhabited, nugatory self.
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 2:08 AM UTC
You strike your lighter
the air warms
you draw the flame near
the heat lights
and you take a long drag
Inhaling in my pleasures
you occupy yourself
studying all I have
then bring your lips back to me
inhaling me once more
With every breath
you brighten the spark
it burns for a moment
but not long enough for the night
When I am just a bud
all the pleasure gone
you hold me for a moment
then discard me to the ground
I wait for the next night
when your addiction rages
and your hands ache to touch me
and your mouth aches for my taste
You are as addicted to me,
as I am to you.
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 7:59 AM UTC
oh cigarrette i love you so
out of my mouth the smoke i blow
i love when you get that red glow
instead of shrinking i wish you would grow
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 8:43 PM UTC
My insides have the best of me, the empty can be so heavy.
The beginning starts and leads, from and to nothing.
Anchors on my chest, and I can't feel my heart.
Nothing is around me, yet nothing is where it starts.
Vision alone won't make me see, what's lying in front of me.
Thoughts alone won't help me believe, what could and should come to be.
I burn questions in my head, like cigarrettes on my hand.
What is it that I fear? Middle of the ocean with no signs of land.
Pull me through the clouds, I wanna see how rain is made.
Then drop me back to earth, I wanna feel this endless rain.
But that isn't what I feel, retreat back to nothing.
When my pride is hurt and I feel that certain something.
I hate the way I am, leave before you're left.
Read the first page, then never read the rest.
Over think your thoughts, ignore any feelings.
Avoid pain at all costs, no such thing as healing.
All the drugs in the world couldn't **** who I am.
And nothing could stop my pretending to not give a ****
I'll admit my fears rule me, they have me by the throat.
But one day i'll snare them, send the pain below.
I don't keep faith in the idea, now or never.
But times my worst enemy, I know the sooner the better.
The wind waves the oceans, and nothing makes the winds.
So without question we all feel nothing, and nothing is my friend.
This is where it begins and that is where it ends.
This is where it comes and that is where it sends.
It's true I can be heartless, when I can't find my heart.
It's hard to constantly travel, when it wanders off so far.
And I can be so selfish, when I don't know my self.
But change never changes, so this me can go to hell.
We all die more than once in a lifetime.
Blow away my image, it's in the palm of your hands.
Must there be an ending to this timeline?
Wolves will be vicious, when defending their lands.
I build walls of steel, when I begin to feel vulnerable.
So I can be independent, it's anything but honorable.
"It's better to have loved and lost, then never to have loved at all."
Life doesn't run by a coin toss, can't just sit back and watch it fall.
It's ironic how silence, on the contrary, is the loudest thing in the world.
And how a tough facade, can shield such a weak, and tired insecure little girl.
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 7:18 PM UTC
Perfect camera angles
Make normal people
Act like fools
Actor
Trading foodstamps
For cigarrettes
Under streetlamps
Long broken
I have a fix
Whispering from my pocket
Why should I deny her?
I found a place to hide
Torn rotted rusted
Walls of cinder block
I am sure all the bridges crossing here
Are burnt unto ash
Carried to the oceans
What used to be a window
Is shattered o'er the sea
Birds dive and soar in the fog
Cement monuments
Knee scraped asphalt
I could cry out to the sky
Do you watch me god?
Go about my day
Do you want me?
Am I not poor and naked in thine eyes
Then pour out your mercy upon me dear heaven
Remove me from my earthly plight
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 3:15 PM UTC
I have always claimed you
As my heart.
For I remember
The delicacy of your hands
Touching my face
When I needed your love.
The walls you would build around me
When you knew I didnt have the courage
To face whatever was on the other side.
The calm song of encouragement you would sing to me
When I convinced myself
Not to believe in me.
The joy in your eyes when it was
Pizza friday even when we didnt have the funds to do it
But ***** it, its pizza friday!
Mom, we've had our fights.
Your drunken nights
I would sometimes scream
To see if the Chardonnay had reached The level of your ear drums yet.
To see if your balance was unconscious again.
And when you started smoking cigarrettes,
My blood caught fire like the white tip of your newest fatal hobby.
After losing Dad, I get your stressed out,
But why do we now have nothing to ******* talk about?
Except money.
"What am I going to do?"
Ive heard it my whole life, Mom.
Because poverty is like a greedy leach
It's never satisfied,
Never ready to move on to the next
Sap with the hopes of
A white picket fence and a beautiful golden retreiver
Thats what you wanted, your whole life,
Right, Mom?
And now,
We only talk
About priorities.
Because when I'm around you
For more than five minutes,
I become Me from the past.
Your daughter locked in her room,
Afraid
Avoiding
But still missing you.
Now,
Whenever you dont return my call,
My mind slips into the dark place, remember?
The place I needed help from.
Yeah, its still there.
I fear that you are dead,
Rotting in your house
Alone.
Because Im not there.
And dad's not there.
No one is there.
Daunting, knocking on the inside of my skull,
'What are you doing? Are you okay?'
I want to help.
I dont want to make another mistake
Like when dad died
I wasnt there.
Mom,
I love you
So so much.
Please stay alive.
Please, place your hands and
Touch my face.
Nov 9, 2018
Nov 9, 2018 at 1:45 AM UTC
I
Want you
To strip me (of my clothes)
Of my freedom,
Of everything that I believed in.
I
Want you
To caress me
And
To sing sweet lullabies, for
When our troublesome
Dreams frighten us, I
Want you to
Be there
For me.
I
Want you
To be the
Fair-skinned creature, who's
Eyes glisten like
Sparkling wine and who's
Warm embrace lingered
Without a slight touch
Of my breast.
I
Want you
To undress me, and
Tell
Me
To
Get
On
My knees.
I
Want you
To strip
Me of my
Innocence and
Dangle it across
A canyon
With a thousand
Other hearts
That you
Have yet
To destroy.
I wasn't
Pleased by
My fertility.
It didn't
Suit my stained
Clothes
Or
My
Clover cigarrettes.
I wasn't pleased
By your
Sense of entitlement.
You didn't
Suit
My
Mind.
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 5:41 PM UTC
Cigarettes are nothing
but poison
the way you need them,
actually need them
when you get to that point
your ******
Flicking your finger makes you
just want one more
When Im anxious for one
the feeling
is horrible
inhaling all the toxins
feels so beautiful
and
When I cry,
I just want to hold one
in between my fingers
I hate needing them
Ive never needed something
so much right now
and I cant even have one
Makes me want to go mental.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 12:09 AM UTC
. .i will die
.i will die today
.i will die tomorrow
.i will die every day after that for the rest of my god ****
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 2:51 AM UTC
pretty girls fill the school
all of them taken by men more attractive
the others to ****** to be with
single for two years
my sorrows buried in smoke
cigarrettes are my girls
the only one I can touch
that makes me happy
while I die
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
the sun will burn out
one day
it seems
this is a paradox
it is the sun
after all
light
warmth
life
the heat on your face in the summer
can eventually run out
of marb red cigarrettes
burning on a meal a day
sometimes i wonder
how can she do it
laughing down on you
like the smiling baby face
on pbs kids
incessantly
bringing inspiration
the reason
for
well
everything
to create
eat
just
just
hiding behind cloudy skies
which are metaphors
uplifting wet concrete bones
which are metaphors
in the stark of shivering sadness
not a metaphor
i am alaska
six months of darkness
sleep sun
eat sun
scream!!
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 7:43 PM UTC
developed a little
bad habit per say
started smoking
cigarrettes on
summer nights
each one filling
my lungs with
thick smoke leaving
tastes of you lingering
on my lips
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 11:13 PM UTC
He says the way he was is what I see
The lonely words break my heart
Like a cpr course is the thing I wish I took
To breathe the life back into him when he smiled uncontrollably
The man I am can be hurt same as him
He still says the things that make me wince
A heart transplant of hope comes in a box
Its marked 12 budwieser or 25 cigarrettes
Its ok as long as I wait for your recovery
I know that your hospital of pain was only the beginning
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 4:14 AM UTC