Syn City Poetry

Her flame was bright & strong, but brief She burned hot enough to light the end of your cigarette But only lingered long enough for you to barely taste the smoke now she is gone & all she has left in her path is ash

Do you ever think of me the way I think of you? Do you see my face behind closed eyelids and feel a pain in your chest? Because everytime I blink, everytime I sleep, I see you and it hurts. I miss you.

“He likes legos. He has sets that he’s built in his room, while he was drinking a sixer and smoking a marlboro red. He likes legos I tell her, and I see her face light up. A suggestion for a Christmas present that slipped unwillingly from my lips. A memory that I tried to bury. I feel my face fall as hers grows brighter. I hope she remembers that I let it slip he likes legos, so that when he opens his shiny new toy, I know that he’ll build it with a marlboro red clamped between those lips I used to kiss, and he’ll put it in his room, next to the bed where we used to lay. And it will be because of me that it is there, rather he knows it or not I hope she remembers He likes legos.”