Nicotine

I consume poetry like cigarettes

Rolling the pages and inhaling the words deep into my lungs

The ink staining my fingers and teeth and the balloon

Of my breaths, smoky dioxide exhales, full of conversations

That I never had but wanted to

I hold the phrases, warm, between my lips

So I can use my hands to tell stories and paint murals

With each draw a new rib cracks and my nerves calm

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