when the pack came out

by mercator
cigarettes. and broken dreams the short entries that i can't write these ideals we have and our thoughts of love how they break our souls and leave me for the dead and how you scoop me up but only to break me again and how our record player just keeps repeating these same scratchy lines but you tell me that we are all right and you interject yourself intopainstaking relationships hurting yourself as well as me i only try to move on and i always fail and i can't get past this and i can't get past you and as well as the. love
Read 5 comments
you gotta quit smoking or you'll die.
mm.
as i already said.
It's a lovely poem.
Unique compared to
your others.
cigarette is a beautiful word,
but i've never found smoking to be.

life is full of little ironies.
when i think of cigarettes i think of ugly white sticks that stink to high heaven and make your hair reek if you're in a bar.

but that's simply my experience.
my aim is alexenqua kisaki.

I think i like red because it always stands out.