COMPLETE ✔️
Highest ranking: #175 in Poetry! (3/15/17)
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Where there is mourning, there is also hope.
Despite the struggles and the losses we mourn-mental, physical, or emotional-good can come out of it.
But even when there seems to be not hope as a...
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One breath and you are in my lungs, Filling up between my rib cage. I've been consumed by your sacred songs, And I've prepared for all my wages.
You are between my lips, lit at the end. In one breath of sour nicotine I'm feeling my teeth bend. You're intoxicatinglyobscene.
I feel my heart blackening with each inhale And when you touch me I feel the burns in my flesh. The taste on my tongue has grown stale, And the spots on my wrist are your little sketch.
I've become the addict in this game, Stuck on cigarettes made of your words. You've brought blood from my veins By using your tongue as a sword.
Promises are as sick as the orange and white. These sticks are made of your hypocrisy. I'm feeling the pain of nicotine's bite, And the breath of my lungs has turned into a faintbreeze.
I was hooked the moment the fire touched you, For I enjoyed watching you burn. But now I'm a filthy addict, reconciled by few. Oh my, some addicts never learn.
