Cigarette Poetry

I

cigarette limp
in an unsteady hand
while feet pace
down the dark
and lonely street

the smell clings
to the tendrils
of fire like hair
as ashes fall
in the dark

on soft, clean linen
laying against the pillow
smells of your skin
and being
“wish you were here”

tears fall slowly
reality is breathed
through filthy lungs
sharp intakes of sadness
hang in silence

II

I can’t even hold a cigarette
between my jittery, weak
hands that shake
at the thought
of not having you.

I blow the smoke away
from myself,
I don’t want to smell
like my sadness
and anxiety and
fears;

but when I come inside,
all I can smell is
you and the fear
of not being near you.
I told you this
is the reason I will
become addicted,
is because I simply
can’t
quit
you.

I’m terrified of
not being near you
again and of
sleeping, cold and alone
with only a cloying scent
to guide me back to
the memory of
every night
and day
and moment with
you.

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