Read Poem: Life and Times of my Cigarettes Death, by Samantha Broesky

If only you knew
the laps it took,
To find my way out,
of labyrinths in my head.
I was trapped in days so
dark,
attempting ways to escape,
want to get back,
be safe, in my minds maze.
Lost in countless ways,
How many times?
Times after time.
Do you know?
Just how many times,
I have died
while still alive?

It’s not easy, having this,
beautiful mind.
To see the beauty,
in deranged miracles,
They luminate through my
eyes.
To be able to outsmart my
Devil,
Beat me at my own game,
Now I wear this damned
crown,
Watching myself,
I go down on my knees
Singing my own praises,
Loving myself,
embracing my wicked ways.
Backwards I lit my first
cigarette.
Filter for my silent mouth,
Watch how it ignites
Spewing toxic, blue flames,
Straight out of hell.
Still I inhale.
Ill be the first to admit,
I’ve done some pretty
fucked up shit.
All that time wasted.
Incarserated. Intoxixated.
Drugged out. Seduced.
Body Bloody, Bruised and
Broken.
Over and over….
praying for a day it, or I
would end.
Still canʼt recall all the
nights, turned to days,
to weeks, no sleep on
repeat….. Stealing and
Dealing.
Forget to keep dreaming.
Here I am,
still inhailing that cigarette.
My only regret,
Was falling in love,
With the right man.
Only thing left.
Date.Year.
Numbers finalizing,
Timing his breath.
Ashes everywhere.
The only truth in love.
My cigarettes death.
Radio playing.
Times timeless hitlist.
If I could turn back,
My all-time regret,
Was in a moment,
No sooner, or later,
no matter where, I asked
why me? What happened,
Or didn’t, after I met you.
In a restricted hall,
Trying hard to be late,
The clock kept telling me,
I blame it for believing it’s
lies.
I was blind, from not hearing,
The warning from time,
in how we both become,
prisoners starting at walls.
Counting every damn day,
Every impossible way,
Lists on lists,
regret turns to regret,
Wishing for words to pray,
I can’t say, make me forget.
No, I never, I won’t, I don’t
even smoke,
The look you gave me, while
giving to you.
In you, I gave, my first
regret,
that led to you…. Lighting
me up, that last cigarette.
Now the last thing, my only
thing left,
Iʼm smoking alone, not
hearing you say my name.
I’ll never regret, how you
had… that crave,
because of me.
You get a spark off a dead
lighter,
trick is, put two dead ones
together.
Sex, death, celebration,
stress.
Always you’ll see me
smoking.
I need you, not ashes,
you need a cigarette.

About poetryfest

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This entry was posted in 2019 Poetry, new poetry, poet, poetry, Uncategorized and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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