Don’t smoke

When our lips first met I knew she was a cigarette,

Bitter, detrimental to my health, and addictive.

With every drag, I tasted a melancholic menthol and new dimensions of sadness and pessimism, her cloudy outlook on life.

She kept reminding me that she was a quick fix, that no light burns forever

But in my darkness, the sensation she provides, her ingredients tingling on my lips rectify her issues of longevity.

I inhale slowly to savour her–My satisfaction, her stimulation.


Ashes drift like our conversations.

She warned me that she wasn’t Forever,

Only a taste of what forever will never be.

Anguish in the ashtray



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