As I inhale, blue smoke fills my lungs; it hurts, but it feels like bliss. My lungs expand to accept the hit. I call feel the walls inside me crumble to pieces, dry up and fall apart. Then I exhale, and all I feel is deflated, defeated, and used. All that goodness is gone.
I lift it back up to my lips, and take a drag so deep, it makes me think I can fly.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Book 3
Poetrythird poem collection. they aren't in any particular order or anything like that, and after 100, there will always be a new one. if you've been here a while, I'm sure you know the drill. now, about the cover. it was a random Thursday, and an old fri...
