I Am… Marlboro Light
I’ve always hated the way her blood red lips stained the pure white jacket of a Marlboro Light.
I always feared the day her lips would stain them one last time,
and how she would never be able to intoxicate her lungs again,
exhaling all of her stress disguised as smoke.
Though I can’t hate her for it.
I’d love to understand the way she copes,
but I’ve found comfort in glass pouring out red wine through my skin.
I would love to have somebody understand,
but I lie through my teeth to keep curiosity away.
I should pull out every tooth and string out its roots,
but I would only sew my bleedings lips together.
And I would love to let somebody in under my nails,
but I’ve somehow managed to dig them into my tongue.
But how nice would it be to cope secretly?
I want to swallow the remains of every burnt tobacco stick piled up in a small ashtray.
I want to carve a hole in my neck to spill out every inch of me that’s you.
But most of all, I want you to need me.
I want to be the air you breath in,
and the poison you breath out.
I want to be your heartbeat,
and the way your lungs struggle to inflate.
I want to be the soles of your feet,
and the ache of your back that just won’t go away.
I want you to need me;
but I also want you to understand.
I want to be the stain on your Marlboro Light,
and the stress you breath out disguised as black smoke.