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Literature Text
We wait in the car outside,
my hand dangling from the window,
my fingernails kissed with fog.
Silvery curls of smoke
rise like a dragon's breath
from the thing between my fingers.
You look at me, horrified,
staring at the black and blue
stains upon my tongue,
the marks of damage
cutting deep into my skin,
deep beneath tissue,
deep enough to corrode my bones.
I'm living in someone else's death,
borrowing a pair of cheap, shriveled lungs
that rattle loosely like leaves
in my chest.
I exhale a fresh, decaying breath,
and though I try to be diplomatic,
I know in my heart I'm just mocking you.
"Those things are gonna kill you,"
you tell me, all sage wisdom and disapproval
and sudden concern for my well-being.
"It's six bucks for a pack of cancer."
I try to laugh, and cough
then laugh some more
at the fact that I can't breathe.
In a greasy ashtray, I stamp out
my last flimsy cigarette,
ash and sorrow lying dead
in the dimly lit embers.
If only I could stamp you out
as easily as I've stamped myself out.
my hand dangling from the window,
my fingernails kissed with fog.
Silvery curls of smoke
rise like a dragon's breath
from the thing between my fingers.
You look at me, horrified,
staring at the black and blue
stains upon my tongue,
the marks of damage
cutting deep into my skin,
deep beneath tissue,
deep enough to corrode my bones.
I'm living in someone else's death,
borrowing a pair of cheap, shriveled lungs
that rattle loosely like leaves
in my chest.
I exhale a fresh, decaying breath,
and though I try to be diplomatic,
I know in my heart I'm just mocking you.
"Those things are gonna kill you,"
you tell me, all sage wisdom and disapproval
and sudden concern for my well-being.
"It's six bucks for a pack of cancer."
I try to laugh, and cough
then laugh some more
at the fact that I can't breathe.
In a greasy ashtray, I stamp out
my last flimsy cigarette,
ash and sorrow lying dead
in the dimly lit embers.
If only I could stamp you out
as easily as I've stamped myself out.
Literature
2820 miles
tag-along games i play with my guilty conscience
as i am drawn running towards the sea
away from the cold atlantic and over the mountains
through misty moors and smoky shacks
into the land of giants and ruffians
past god's own blessed children
i'll rest in the foothills, sleep under the stars
forget why i came, leave my boots in the rain
eventually sing indie rock in memphis
cross the styx and enter no-man's land
sun stroke burning my brain
prairie grass tickling my bare legs
the flames will scorch me as i continue
questioning myself in dreams
visions beleaguering my addled acts
texas taking its toll, dusting me over
when i reach the deser
Literature
sati(ate)d
it's ironic,
isn't it? the way
they say "hunger gnaws"
like the way our teeth
scrape against bones.
for all the
calories that are counted,
you still feel
empty. you aren't
beautiful until
you are digesting
nothing but air
and maybe your own guilt.
that's just the way
living is these
days: swallowing
glass shards to
slice up your insides so
you can ignore
the other kind of pain your
stomach is feeling.
but when people ask
if you're doing okay you just
smile and nod even though
you can't help but
think "if honesty was
tangible, i'd eat it right
now."
life has
an acquired taste and
some days you'd
like to rip your
tongue out.
Literature
For every goodbye I ever gave,
there is a void that has yet to be filled.
You
probably don't remember when
we stayed up all night counting
stars or how this world
wasn't actually
real.
We were our own gods.
The day your faith died
was the day your mother whispered
"He's living with her now" and you
stopped
breathing
long enough to forget I was standing
there,
too.
Fast forward to
too many
years later,
we locked eyes in whitewashed
halls.
Amnesia was
written in the creases of
your skin like narcotic
borderlines between living and
acting and you could only
pretend like I wasn't
there—just a
whisper in the wind
that reminded you
of being human once upo
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The title, "Tobacco and Peppermint," is a lyric from one of my favorite songs: "Jaws Theme Swimming" by Brand new. This poem is inspired by it.
In a car outside, we stalk the idle kind.
If you're leaving, just let me know.
Tobacco and peppermint, dusting for fingerprints.
A film in her eyes from the glow.
Also, does anybody know how much a pack of cigarettes costs? As a nonsmoker I kind of had to guess about it, haha. If you like this, let me know! I love your feedback!
© 2013 littleblueraccoon
In a car outside, we stalk the idle kind.
If you're leaving, just let me know.
Tobacco and peppermint, dusting for fingerprints.
A film in her eyes from the glow.
Also, does anybody know how much a pack of cigarettes costs? As a nonsmoker I kind of had to guess about it, haha. If you like this, let me know! I love your feedback!
© 2013 littleblueraccoon
© 2013 - 2024 littleblueraccoon
Comments26
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Wow, congrats on the DLD! This is really a wonderful poem.