Blow second hand smoke
In my face.
For I, myself,
Am too scared to poison my lungs on my own.
It'll never escape
Once it's there.
You place a lit cigarette to your lips,
And tell me how happy you
Are to see me.
Even with anger in your blackened heart.
Even when I haven't touched
A killing stick,
I've still become a second hand
Smoker.
YOU ARE READING
Air Bubbles And Paper Cuts
PoesiaJust some things I never had the guts to say out loud. (Updated daily??)
