Cancer Stick

Cancer Stick

 

I feel her

excitement as my own,

bleak eyes smile at me with desire

“It’s not good for me,” she moans

as she inhales my mortal fire.

I stroke her lungs,

kiss her brain hard,

pledging her a flash of high.

Hiding from the wind,

I long my burn to linger far

longer than she'd planned,

But as she takes her last hit,

Her cold wet feet

approach the dreadful garbage can,

she rubs my face on its wet surface

smothering, to toss me out with cold

bare hands,

replace my smolder

with damp air

“Last one,” she murmurs

quietly, “I swear.”

 

Reviews

[FIN]

You're a fantastic story-teller. I'll give you that, Anonymous.

Love the piece. You took an object and enlivened it whilst depicting the destruction of such actions and the addictions held behind them, as well as expressing death (through the evaporation of the cigarette). Wow.

Wonderfully composed, as well.

Much love,

LR