clouds

his effervescent

spirit was slowly dying

the sublimity

of cigarettes is bitter

There's just something about you

that makes me smile inside.

It's not your fluffy hair or

your effervescent soul.

Not your warm eyes,

yet distant and cold,

Not your goofy smile,

or your sadistic smirk

It might not be

your hearty chuckle

nor can it be

your soft lingering touch

it can't be,

your sadistic comments

which break me down inside

still I smile

It shouldn't be

the way you play with my hair

or your polite demeanor for women

Is it that spark in your eyes,

when I catch you stealing a glance

or when you laugh?

It can't be these things about you,

They aren't pink anymore, are they?

I've started to cough randomly at times.

People ask if I'm alright.

I am, right?

I mean- I don't have a cold and nothing else to be honest.

Why am I coughing?

Why can't I breathe sometimes??

Are my lungs already decaying?

i fall asleep amidst the sublime

redolance of cigarettes,

on the cold hard stone

of an unnamed grave,

You called me that but then said it was a joke.

Don't say it was a joke. Own the fact that you said it to me.

will they one day fade, and go away?

was destroyed by global warming;

Did its people want too much too?

Did its people want too much?

Why would I ever smoke?

Why would I ever smile?

Just a few more days to go.

The petrichor will no longer be there;

The season of the rain, no more.

What will I ever do then?

Smoke, smoke, smoke?

I would not smile,

With the absence of the rain

My curls would be looser;

I would not be happy

What will I ever do?

The presence of such weather,

Binds me down;

From doing sinful things.

I need the petrichor,

To fill my lungs;

Or else I might,

Thin leaves from trees near,

flicker when the wind is here;

their flowers blend in,

lighting up the dark and grim.

Sunlight filters through

the thick forest grooves;

their trunks are curvy,

thick and sturdy.

Laying down on the grass,

as you feel the time pass;

hear the water in the stream,

I am alone, in a crowded space.

The melancholic sigh of the breeze,

The low whisper of the trees;

The hearty laughter of sunbeams,

And the ironic quietness of it all.

Feel the nostalgia in the air,

As you lay down on the grass

And feel the time pass.

Your back, the grass tickles

And you laugh while stars twinkle.

Put your arm behind your head,

And close your eyes, into a night