The Last Cigarette
consequences of being lost in lust
Thoughts of you between my lips never seem to leave my head. It was a craving that nothing else couldn’t fix. Even from the start we were a "match" made in hell, ready to set this whole world on fire. A reflection of all my bad habbits rolled into one. Relentlessly staining my smile with small moments of bliss. Sometimes I wonder if you're really worth all the toxicity in my life. Somehow I’ve became dependent on all the things you made me feel, knowing damn well you're slowly killing me. I've grown to ignore all the red flags about you in hopes the cancer isn’t the one to finally kill me. This isn't what I had in mind when I said you took my breath away. Yet here you are, giving me internal warmth. Pack after pack, I wonder how much more my lungs can take before my heart gives out. Perhaps one day I'll learn how to quit you, but for now... one more time can't hurt.
About the Creator
Kevin Khim
choreographer and everything else
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Dodging Bullets
I gradually wake up to the smell of burning incense & hearing my parent's voices on an old karaoke machine. I sit up to rub my eyes as their voices intertwine into a sweet melody. Having heard stories of the khmer rogue war stuck inbetween their native tongue, their encounters of flying bullets reminds us to move to the rhythm of every beat. They danced together on this foreign land knowing it's far from perfect, yet they were taught to make the best out of these situations. I seem to remember the early mornings at the temple. I start by praying for better days, as my mind wonders off to think if I'm even worthy of that. Bent out of a position, my leg fills up with static as it falls asleep to the sound of chanting monks. My eyes eventually becomes a television screen, it connects to my broken surround sound system where my stomach rumbles out of hunger. The sound echoes across the room as the embarrassment carries me outside. Strange. I see a monk discreetly smoking a cigarette, he puts out the ashes on the holy ground. He stares back at me and exhales a cloud of nicotine addiction onto my face. The remaining second hand smoke kills my appetite, it buries what's left of my happiness in it's place. My thoughts becomes a new warzone. It tells me to start dodging bullets.
By Kevin Khim5 years ago in Poets
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