Was given a cigarette
I light It backwards
Stub it out on my hand
Recite my lines
Do another take
Recite them again
Kiss you
Think about how dry your lips feel on mine
Walk off the set
Get in my car
Drive home
Pass out on the couch
Coughing in my sleep
Because they had me try a hit earlier
And decided it was misshapen enough in its poetry
That it has to be wrong
So the pretty girl doesn't seem to have a death wish
And I dream of putting cigarettes out on your face
And smearing lipstick on your mouth
in an attempt to soften them up a bit
But I wake up
And wash my hands of imaginary residue
And get in my car and drive
So I may light another cigarette again
At the wrong end
•••
A/N: I wish I was obnoxious in the word I speak. That I have Zs and Ys in my vocabulary. That juxtaposition is a word I'd say everyday and that I could explain my thoughts only to those who can recall old vocabulary tests from high school English classes because perhaps if I have an excuse as to why people don't understand it'd validate my need to be poetic
Oh and one more poem I think. And then maybe another poetry book. Idk.
YOU ARE READING
he/him/you
Poetry[completed] some half assed thoughts i've had about unrequited love and unnecessary hope shattering revelations
