cigarettes.
and broken dreams
the short entries
that i can't write
these ideals we have
and our thoughts of love
how they break our souls
and leave me for the dead
and how you scoop me up
but only to break me again
and how our record player
just keeps repeating
these same scratchy lines
but you tell me
that we are all right
and you interject yourself
intopainstaking relationships
hurting yourself as well as me
i only try to move on
and i always fail
and i can't get past this
and i can't get past you
and as well as the.
love
you gotta quit smoking or you'll die.
mm.
as i already said.
It's a lovely poem.
Unique compared to
your others.
cigarette is a beautiful word,
but i've never found smoking to be.
life is full of little ironies.
when i think of cigarettes i think of ugly white sticks that stink to high heaven and make your hair reek if you're in a bar.
but that's simply my experience.
my aim is alexenqua kisaki.
I think i like red because it always stands out.