Her eyes held the sky, and I wanted nothing more than to hold her hand.
But nicotine was the one that embraced her in bed each night.
She slept on clouds of carcinogens and smoke-
couldn't she see that she was in love with all the things that were killing her?
Her lips felt more at home around the neck of a bottle
than against my own.
I thought had her love, and addiction was her mistress.
But maybe... Maybe it was the other way around?
Because if she really loved me, she would have stopped smoking a pack a day.
The burn of menthol shorts must have tasted sweeter than my kiss.
YOU ARE READING
A Cage Left Open
PoetryThis collection of short stories and poetry focus on themes such as love, loss, heartache, and depression. Most of the works are fictional, though some are personal narratives. They have been written as a way to navigate myself through the darkest p...
