I really did love you, but you were a chain smoker and I was just another pack of cigarettes. But I've been to rehab and I've learned that secondhand smoke is far more dangerous than the cigarette itself. Flick the flint and light up the room to see where it went wrong. I've been fighting it off for so long but now I've gotten rid of you so as to curb my addiction but I'm weaning the patches and the feelings are flurries of smoke inside my lungs filling me up to where I can't breathe and I'm just waiting it out. Waiting to breathe. Waiting for something to change. Waiting for you to buy another pack of cigarettes. Waiting for the awkward glances and thick tension to stop. The sooner the better. I'm ready to let go. So now I am. I'm letting you go.
YOU ARE READING
Skitzo Sketch
PoetryThis is a collection of my original poems. They contain ideas and laments about love, pain, self harm/hate, suicide, mental illness, and more. ***TRIGGER WARNING*** when *** shows up beware of that piece
