I really should stop smoking

By blighters rock

Sun, 16 Mar 2014
  • 3433 reads
12 comments
 

Every morning my tongue

my stomach coil tighter

lovelorn basket-case snakes

in a closed airless room and

my first thought is

I’m dying.

 

Every morning my throat

my heart feel tighter

fighting cocks with cramp

in a pen surrounded by wire and

my second thought is

I’m not trying.

 

Every morning the sun

the sky burn brighter

God streaming through a crack

warming my little toe and

my third thought is

I’ve stopped smiling.

 

Every morning my body

my brain grow slighter

habit walks me to the kettle

two patient machines wait and

my fourth thought is

I need a fag

 

to settle my nerves

to write

next to the wastepaper basket

where I used to pray first. 

Certificate 15
Poem
Miscellaneous

Comments

Submitted by Canonette on

You can do it, Blighters.  You've been telling me for a year that you can no longer write - and yet you got a Pick of the Day last week.  Your first thought is actually a fear.  Perhaps turn it on its head and think "I'm alive" instead? 

 

Submitted by blighters rock on

My first thought is always 'now how do I kill myself today?' 

However, when I woke up in the morning, I always feel grateful to be alive. Then I realise where and who I am

 

Submitted by Canonette on

No, it's not.  You can't kill yourself with a cup of tea and a roll up.

 

Submitted by Tom Brown on

Have you tried one of those death lights? Sounds like euthanasia hey?

Not funny. I know. But the joke is on me. Cheers. Tom

 

Submitted by alexislebaroudeur on

If words are bricks, then this poem is a church

 

Submitted by blighters rock on

Thank you, Alexis. I think that's the kindest comment I've ever had; a poem in ten beautiful words.

 

Submitted by Tom Brown on

I usually find one inside of the waste paper basket. Yes I can think it must be terrible anguish. You are very brave.

Wishing you luck. Tom

 

Submitted by blighters rock on

Thanks for reading, Tom. The wastepaper basket was only for the ill-gotten physical gains of smoking. Good to have it close by in the morning

 

Submitted by scratch on

Hey Blighters, that you doubt yourself as a writer is, to me at least, infathomable.  You've got more ability than you could poke with a stick.  When I first joined this site I looked to your work for guidance, I found it exemplary and still do.  Look at it this way, those who doubt their ability will always attain more than those who think themselves perfect.

 

Submitted by blighters rock on

Ah thanks, Scratch. I've been in a right royal block now for what seems an eternity but it's comments like this that can jolt me back into action and flicker some lights to come on. Got the worm of a story and about time, so I'll try my hand at that soon. 

 

Submitted by Denzella on

Aaah Richard,

Smoking and writing!  One is a bad habit the other is a necessity. So stop writing and light a fag.  You'll  feel so much better for it...  Only kidding!  Scratch is  right.  A true artist is never satisfied because they are always looking for perfection but never feel they have found it so the search goes on.  Someone who thinks their work is already perfect  has stopped searching so their work will never improve.

And that is my philosophical thought for the day!  Now where did I leave my fags?

Moya

 

Submitted by blighters rock on

Sorry for not replying till now, Moya. I don't get notified on posts to my work for some reason so hadn't seen your brilliant one till now. Everything you say is spot on. Unfortunately, perfectionism isn't a patch on true genius so I'll keep banging away like a literary minion till something makes sense. In truth, I've let my writing go by the wayside for a while now, but that can change.