Sunday, 17 August 2014

Smoke

Like spears the smoke gouging at my eye
And in that moment I knew that I would die 
Trapped under the clutter of my life
the crap I'd clear out, when I had the time
and now it kills me, my wanton fetishry
smoke just hangs; cajoling at the death
in the doorway, on the stair- Pain is there
tearing at my fading lungs and nothings left
Not really trying but winning nonetheless
I'd cry out if I cared to hope, but I don't
I'd fight my last, Id claw out my shattered leg
I'd scream in death's face and spit, but I won't
I'm done, gone, finished- The only one left

Caleb Chatfield 2014 ©

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