Calling all poets. Submissins are open for Wingword Poetry Competition!

Smoke to the rescue

Ananya Singh

The first puff was
a gist of desire,
the second one was
a twig to the fire
the third one came,
before I could resist
the fourth one fired,
I was now an addict
Smoke after smoke,
I drowned myself in
to the depths of the potion
that overflowed my grin
I thought the pain erode
in the dark gust of air,
couldn't see it lying around
in the ashes on my chair
Deep it went,
in my heart and came back
touching the ruins
of scars long left
"Just one more",
I still lie to myself
easier to die,
than to cry asking help
They say I cannot stop,
they couldn't know less
it's a choice not to stop
the Cuban blow of death
And so I go on
reeking night and day,
while burning up my soul
and blowing all they say.


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