My breath crystallizes against the window,
as I watch the season trudge on by,
cigarettes fill my lungs,
coating them with tar, no doubt,
but each thought of impending death
is whispered away with each exhale.
In a sense, I feel healed, whole
from the tattered lungs within my chest.
It is said you could die, smoking these things,
I say bring it on, I don’t care
Each inhale is like thousands of
diamonds exploding in my mind.
The true beauty in this,
is often my thoughts as they get wrapped
around this feeling I get whenever
he walks into my life.
And how easily he exits, ‘
leaving me with broken wings that
no amount of Red Bull could ever salvage.
One, two, three
and I flick the cigarette out the window,
climbing down from the sill
with the only remnants of my forbidden
activity the scent of smoke upon my shirt.
Please note: This photo was drawn by me. And this poem is about him, my character that I’m writing a novel about.