SmokeA Poem by E. A. LideYour breath is smoke in the wind. Smoke comes from fire, there's a fire within your chest. Burning, slowly churning, charring, smoking like ham in a smokestack. Like a cigarette: red-lit tip and a nicotine addiction. There's tar in your lungs, pitch-black lined like a dark night. And you can't seem to breathe right, filling your nose a strange scent like your inhaling interment incense. And it doesn't make sense. But neither does death, but that's just life isn't it? And the highs are too short. So you do another line and you're fine for a little while more. Until you wake up in a cold room sprawled out on a wood floor. Unable to recall who you are. And it doesn't make sense. But neither does love, but that's just life isn't it? And the days are too short,. But you're awake through the night, and you don't dream any more. And you're drowning in the lies you tell yourself when you're sober. But you're never sober any more. But you've never felt this strong before. And it doesn't make sense, but life never really did, and you're over it. © 2014 E. A. LideReviews
|
StatsAuthorE. A. LidecornAboutSalutations fellow writers. To be frank, I've never been good at introducing myself or determining which facts are relevant and which are not, so I'm just going to wing it. I've been a member o.. more..Writing
Related WritingPeople who liked this story also liked..
|