& when my chest begins to constrict, my secondhand smoke heart reminds me to quit playing with fire.
but
the feeling of cigarettes & their kiss is too addictive.
i want to feel the spark in their lighter flame heart & i wonder, still,
when was it the last time the drag of smoke left from between my lips.
listen, i'd never abuse hardcore drugs but if doing so feels the same as when you held my hand then bring on the lung disease and the mental breakdowns.
burning is a beautiful thing.
and the flickering flame you left on my door step still catches on my sweater when i leave this abandoned house i called home.
if i were a fire eater,
i'd swallow every last one of your smiles; harbor them in my stomach & on the days i am too lost in my own winter wasteland, i'll climb back into myself & lie next to your voice.
& i wish that the embers in my heart could light someone's campfire spirit,
but
this poem is not yet written to start anyone's furnace.
the blisters remain
the scars still burn
&
still, i am too cold to relight the candles.
/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
A.N.
I don't ever really write love poems but I got kinda inspired. This really isn't to anyone but I also see a perspective where it could relate to friends or for a person who you admire. But they never really notice your passion or your respect for them. Anyway, thank you to anyone reading this! Please vote,comment, and if you have any questions my messages are always open. Thank you. Have a lovely day.~☕
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Fragmentation
PoetryFragmentation// the process or state of breaking or being broken into small or separate parts. ××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××× It's hard for me to complete my poems. And I finally decided to share some of my poetry with strangers. These...
