Wednesday, June 17, 2009


A blue black hand and a hole in the wall

But I’ve got my cigarettes.

Tucked behind

My ear a parcel of death waiting

For us to join in on the fun.

Your face is the reflection

I hate the most.

Contemplating, waiting

To be fucked

By things unseen. I need a new pack.

Glass shatters with the slam of a door

A toast

To the nature of the beast.

I’m leaving

You behind now

But I’ve got my cigarettes.

1 comment:

Jordan Dee said...

I really like this poem! GREAT imagery and metaphors, "a parcel of death waiting," Wow. Also your line breaks keep me reading, especially the line "A toast" I find that very artistic. Job Well done!