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:
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!
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