the dry, fragile bone
that was once her skull,
once a sweet ivory and breathing,
sits,
her charred teeth
situated in the empty sockets
of her jaw
she takes the pack of smokes,
and places a single, white
stick of poison
between her faded lips,
her thin fingers trembling.
she lights it,
the tip of if jumping into orange flame
her lungs don't even cough anymore
they're used to this
abuse
her organs have already been damaged
beyond repair
it's been 12 years of
this,
of her cigarettes.
her intestines,
her liver,
her esophagus,
everything,
coated with a black layer of muck,
grime,
filth,
tar,
sticky and black and ruining her.
but she sighs in relief when the very first puff of the poison licks her tongue.
she's addicted, dependent, feeble.
she's weak,
weak
weak.
the smoking was supposed to get her a spot with the children of the night.
the free ones,
that sat on roofs at three am,
smoking their cigarettes,
their boots dangling off the edge.
they knew things most didn't.
she wanted to be one of them.
she takes another obstructed breath.
she's not one of them.
her voice is rough and faded,
her laugh deflated
hercough constant and full of caught tar and phlegm.
her face droops,
the skin too heavy,
wrinkled and worn out too fast.
her body is riddled with cancers.
there's nothing that anyone can do.
she and her cigarettes are left to suffer together.
cigarettes, her last friend,
theruiner of her finances,
the destroyer of her health,
her life.
she will die in two months.
she is twenty six.
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(this is a PSA that cigarrettes are the worst !)
also, thanks for reading. xx
