Skip to main content

The Little White You Drag




My heart is fire and your hands are the lighter
You can cast it aside or keeping me as a flicker
The way you lit your cigs is classic
And though I am a part of it,
You still got sole power to control every bit

It was not that thin like any other kind
Coming right off the clean white pack,
It was tiny and thick; compact
With scant of paper left on the end side

You’re letting my fire kiss it hastily
Only to have more time
For your lips to devour it leisurely,
Slowly, gently, it burns and burns
And it keeps on burning
Seven minutes straight before you harshly put it out
Much less time than what others prefer to drag

But the smell, oh the smell is haunting
To the very core, it is intoxicating
Tingle in the throat; crisp to my nose
And, oh, how every air that tastes like that
Injects pieces of you into my blood at maximum dose

All of it is white with a hint of aureate
All of it is you; taking a poison like it was your last breathe
Between you, your cigarettes, and your classic smoking habit,
the resemblance is almost uncanny
But your shade surely doesn’t have white, not even any
It is way tanner instead, way too dreamy
It is as dark as your words every time I wanted to lit mine;
as dark as your eyes warning me not to
and ended up turns me blind

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Love I Knew

The love I knew was a broken feeling. Ruined fraction of a human being. Shattered into words of self-deprecating and midnight thinking.  The love I met was in a dream. The worst kind of wishful dreaming. With eyes closed and a full running mind, consisted of people whose existence is around but have been far way long gone. I met love only when I let myself to be taken over into the unconscious world. Romanticized by a dead logic and a handful of feelings that is kinda sick.  The love I knew was pain. One-sided, unrequited, red blooded. The kind of pain that makes you want to scream with a tied tongue; the kind of pain when a wingless bird learn to fly.  The love I knew was never wants more. Expecting miracle but swallowing every reality only to be awaken to the utter veracity, that love is not always pretty. It’s a monster ready to devour my entire endeavor.  The love I knew was being on the other line waiting for him to pick up. Consumed wit...

I’m Still The One Who Cry

Out of the misery you paint hard across my wrist The longing of mild distraction blinded the eyes of every butterflies They flew away abruptly tearing up the memory Between long hours of wrapping back my skin and bones Your cold hard fingers felt insignificant Never been enough to pull out goodbyes and left it blunt There you are standing in the crossroad where I left you to die; being effortlessly calm While holding a bottle of my falling tears in the cup of your palm