his weekends
between white walls
alonerugged mattress
wrapped in dandelions
artificialturqoise curtains
dry, soft; lavenders
indifferenthis knife dances
above snow white skin
how dullhe clicks the flame
ignites an escape.
will it work again?how does it feel
to be conscious?he's smoked a thousand times
to be alive;
he heard mischief was meant to
spark interest
to breathe into him a passion
something to make him wildhe thought the warmth of
cigarettes would set him free
but he was unclear
at what freedom even meant; alluring?but all he felt was the bitterness of smoke
drown his throat; the chemicals
stabbing his hurting lungs.
cells within him shutting downit mattered once
he enjoyed the anticipation of
doing something wrong;
made him lividand now he does it
for the sake of it
of having nothing to do
for the sake of deathbecause he's heard that death
is quite the opposite of life?what could ever be
more adventurous than that?
ESTÁ A LER
It (#Wattys2016)
Poesia| 1st Place for Summer Sun Awards (Beginner's Firsts) | | 2nd Place for the Pinpoint Awards | | Finalist for the 2016 Awards | It matters not what people think regarding things you believe strongly in. Perhaps, it may even help to even spread...