the smoke

i can’t imagine how to finish a day without you,

sipping you from the bitter filter:
your white air jumps out from both the yellow tip
and the red spot at the end of the stick...

my index and middle fingers touch my chapping lips
as i hear the cackling of the fiery tip -
only audible at those moments
when i cant help but light up a stick...

inhaling, missing the way you glide down to my lungs:
caressing the walls of my throat,
taking its shape,
suffocating me for one warm moment,
from the inside,
filling up my lungs...

and when i can no longer inhale:
the cold, damp breeze
-be it at dawn,
in the middle of the day,
at night-
tinges the tip of my tongue
and i exhale you...

most of the time,
id take you in again
when you escape my mouth:
up my nose,
i can smell my tainted chest,
my burning throat,
my rotting gums,
my blackening teeth...

that one moment -
taking you in,
breathing you out -
you reach into my chest;
yet, you and i know you reach more places...

when i feel the filter burning,
when i throw it away:
my brain melts
and it drips from my ears and eyes...

then, you fill up the cavity,
pressing what little is left of my brain
to the walls inside my skull...

oh, youre such a sweet disease that takes my thoughts away from him and her...
its such a shame that im giving you up for the same reason i started using you again…