you tell yourself that the ash in your lungs is as good as a kiss goodnight,
and you write poems about the smoke tendrils whispering off her lips,
oh how beautiful they are.
you admire that feeling you get deep down because you're so goddamned lonely
and that loneliness loops for days upon weeks
but eventually you give up.
you stop writing poems about smoke tendrils trailing off the lips you once wanted to kiss,
or about how your loneliness is so unbearable,
because now you write poems about how to stay alive
you write poems about the places you feel at home rather than the places you wish you could be
and hope that one day it'll become a reality
YOU ARE READING
isolated
Poetrythe loop that is never ending, will once end. cover creds: oswaldo cepeda on twitter
