Bubbles

I plan on living because you are dying.
I plan on being the cinders as you become ash.
Just don’t fall on his clothes.

We make the perfect cigarette.
The heaven and hell of depression.
We fit in the pocket and the lungs.
It almost sounds like treason.
It almost sounds like a breath.
But he is too old and too young.

Are we lost in the smoke? Or is he?

Be as apathetic as you are in dreams.
As silent as you are in screams.
As lonely as you are in teams.
Be not the moderate, be the extreme.

For I am neither. I spark like a firefly
As I become you. I am the moment
Neither past nor future. Present
Is the most terrible reality.
Continually changing,
There is no escape
As he holds the nape
Trying to keep me alive
As I die, as I die,
And it is still not enough.

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Abirice

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