lit stick of smoke,
what is it you pour into my lungs?
do I even dare ask?
I suppose it doesn't matter.
you provide me sanctuary.
the stale smell that covered
the homes of family
now weaves itself into my cloth.
my being has become that of ironic repetition.
you will take my father first.
a smoky scythe
and smug grin,
as you retort
"but you signed your soul to me
without the need of ink".
that death awaits me.
it always has.
a genetic malfunction
that steers my fate towards you.
I signed the contract long ago,
but when my time comes,
at least I will know I signed it.
YOU ARE READING
Poems From My Soul
Poetry(ALL ORIGINAL WORK) Some miscellaneous poetry I have written in the past, and some which I will post in the future. WARNING: TW for depression, mental health, suicidal thoughts
