poems 'n shit

S m o k e

(This short story implies suicide. Read at own risk)

Smoke puffed out of his mouth, floating to the ceiling as he gazed out of the window. Cigarette in hand, her on his mind, and blood on his jeans. He gripped the cig tighter, sucking in the sweet, sweet nicotine. The bright moon shown through the large window, lighting up his face as it became wet.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

One tear, two tear.
Clear tear, crimson tear.

He ignored the soft bullets of pain as they fell on his leg. The puff of smoke flew in front of his eyes, causing his vision to get blurry. His lip left a mark on the burnt out roll of addiction.

He sighed, the moon feeling the same.
"I'm sorry," he mouthed, seemingly to no one as he lay back, wanting to sleep forever.

One last splash onto the ground before his forever sleep had reached him.
He smiled.