The Burn Out

Every time she lights up, she is reminded of him...

I inhale and let the smoke fill my lungs,

breathing in until I’m forced to exhale.

Ringlets of snowy smoke cling to my hair,

making every strand smell like the inside of your

old blue muscle car. Flecks of black and rust

from the filter flake away, carried by the wind

all around the campus.

 

Campus life is fast paced;

students walk with a distinct quickness.

All of them destined to be someone other than you.

They walk past me so fast that I only see their glowing

potential. I sit on a stiff wooden bench and inhale deeper;

my leather book bag filled with Shakespeare, Marlboros,

and the glossy black lighter you left behind.

          

You were my first teacher,

teaching me how to look cool and use the world

for an ashtray. You taught me things no one

was supposed to teach me, then. A bad boy only

has one thing on his mind, but I didn’t know that

when you arrived. Fascinated by your long thick hair

and Screw you, man attitude; your James Dean confidence

unshakeable. I thought boys like you only existed in S.E Hinton

novels. Hypnotized by your bewitching baby blues, which still

remains to be the only angelic thing about you. “All you need

to do is breathe in. Stop being a baby,” you said to me. I listened

and obliged like a good student eager to please.

          

Carried away by the dark smoke you rolled in on,

leaving me with the taste of ash and an addiction.

Left-over smoke falls around my face and kisses my cheeks goodbye

and I’m left to burn, like one of your countless cigarettes.   

Author's Note

Free verse poem written for my Intro. to Creative Writing class.