if it doesn't kill you
slowly, imperceptibly
does it really count
as being alive?
cigarette smoke and
whiskey burn on a
seat of ice cold
behind the shed
fingers sting and
fingers moan from
frostbite but warmth
enters inside and
keeps fingers alive
breaths come too fast
and go faster still
heart pounds out of chest
light ignites near
and so cold feels warm
behind shivers still
it might kill you in time
this poisoned self-delight
but only if something else
doesn't get there first
and if it doesn't kill you
slowly, imperceptibly
while it keeps you warm inside
does it really count
as being alive?
YOU ARE READING
Simply Poetry
PoetryA collection of poems by Sean Arturo Last. You are encouraged to leave your interpretations in the comments. -- © All Rights Reserved (No unauthorized copy, distribution, transmission, or alteration of the work.)
