The Routine : A Box Of Cigarette

By Dark Chocolate

It saves me from focus of the brightest cities,

comforts my body like the grip of the darkest gallows.

Thoughts getting cremated in the cemetary head,

while eyes keep dripping anxiety in the Bay of illusion,

floating nowhere with the tunes like fumes

I am weaving my death everyday like a silk worm.

With every Cigarette that goes down,

I wonder ;

I am killing the pleasure

while the pleasure is killing me,

and this repeats over and over.

Unauthorized Copying Is Prohibited. Ask the author first.
Copyright 2015 Dark Chocolate
Published on Wednesday, August 26, 2015.     Filed under: "Poetry"
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Comments on "The Routine : A Box Of Cigarette "

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  • Ortolan On Wednesday, August 26, 2015, Ortolan (226)By person wrote:

    Good poem even if you are an ex-cig smoker like I.All too mellow a drag for so little it seems.Way better than some commercials I refused to see recently. Å’

  • carlosjackal On Wednesday, August 26, 2015, carlosjackal (2582)By person wrote:

    Really good, reflective piece.

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