Smoke

My childhood smells like cigarettes

that wafting air that is the

fragrance of my parents’ love

and the signature of their separation

when your memories are filled with smoke

you grow to love the thing you hate the most

cough cough cough

watching as the poison seeps into their lungs

leaving almost no room for love

I love that tense air

the drug that colours my soul

that innocent little box

that over the counter exchange

that darling little smoke break

those darling little caramel coloured walls

in the most darling little house of them all

the sticky air that pervades my past

the drag that would turn out to be your last

the token of disintegration

when these walls aren’t the only things falling apart

when tar turns your whole life black

and all you want is to go back

and hold a little cigarette at your side

and pray that everything will go back

to dreamy clouds of cigarette smoke

where chemicals were a welcome force

and that little pack was the source

that held us together

to this day I can never say I truly hate

the smell of those little weapons of mass destruction

just a single noseful

can bring me back to simpler times

with simpler fights

and simpler lies

I miss the nights

the creamy sky

the amber lights

your dreamy eyes

that childhood guise

our intertwined lives.

11/26/15

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