February 3rd, 2021
I want to take up a bad habit. The smoke seeps into my clothes from mom's breath, and I want to like it this way. I want to be the one on a smoke break, the one you glance at disappointingly as you walk into the grocery store. I want to be the one who can't go a day without that, or else I risk the feeling of losing a limb to get one stick. I want to be the one who dies. I want to take up a bad habit, and I want it to kill me. I don't deserve to die, but if I smoke then I won't see it coming. And that's what I deserve more than death itself. An abrupt, unexpected cut off of everything I know and love. So next time mom goes out back to smoke half the pack, I'll go out after she's done. And years down the line, when she's done for the last time, I'll give myself to the smoke, and the smoke will give me what I deserve for wanting bad things.
R.K.
YOU ARE READING
Holeheart
PoetryI am the forgiver. I am the destroyer. I'm not at fault, but I deserve to be. Poetry and Prose Volume V 2021 DISCONTINUED
