Smoke

Trapped in this tightly crowded bar,

I can only watch,  the silhouettes

floating through fumes, of cigarettes.

Bitterly flowing, over my, teeth and tongue,

the Smoke goes, RIGht into my lungs,

 

And,

        my breathe... is straining.

I’m,  simply,  suffocating,

but here, I’m, remaining.

 

And,

       for that,

I’m dying.

Or,

    so I’m told.

But,

    we all

are dying.

 

Acknowledging this nicotene

seething, in each, of our veins.

It is the first step. in relieving pain.

That cancerous enchantrous,

is just she showing us?

 

So rather than run.

Here,

        I am, remaining.

I am, SIMply, suffocating,

My breathe IS straining.

 

But my breathe is not broken.

And with rest, I can refocus.

There’ll be silent strides when I resign,

to the bed that beckons me,

and the pillow patiently awaiting,

my return.

 

I hope it won’t choke

from the smell.

 

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