jessewestend

smoldering, longingly, my cigarette smoke blurs the view of you reading my poetry.
I am here but my mind is not it burns and turns through things better left forgot...
page after page, turned scanned and saved, you are digesting all of me
but I have already learned that what we have planned will not be.
what we planned is just a dream.
And suddenly the April sun turns into summer night, a memory occupies my mind
smoking cigarettes till half past three, talking while she read poetry
and when she finished a camel light it was the same ritual every time
push down hard and twist it just so that the flame went with scattered tobacco
that skill is still beyond me, I really should have learned from Whitney
when you finish a flame, put it out. Forget it's name, erase the doubt.

I've had to grow in so many ways to get where I am today
it seems I had farther to go than most can understand
maybe I just didn't know when to stop, maybe I can't...
some people seem content that they are still young, still learning
but I just feel spent and numb, yet my ashes are still burning
And it gets to where every thought is of death and losing
and each worry gets stronger yet I keep on moving
give me a god that I can believe in, I want to have to repent
cuz I have so so many sins, but no soul to keep them in
if I twist the knife now maybe I can find out whos right and how
And here I am just another amoeba, another primordial joke
here I am another non believer stained by yellow smoke

and there she sits, silently waiting for a word or sign from me
that this is all just a phase, like whats written on my face is poetry
she is going to need better glasses if she wants to read me
cuz its too damn hard. even I gave up on being free
even if I gave into art
maybe I can distract someone else into finding peace
but for now I give up on me.
the needle will be cutting me a day from now
thick jagged lines that were supposed to help some how
collar to hip bone ink and ink alone
its startling for me to see so much ancient poetry beneath my chin
cuz I know that there is nothing underneath the skin.
broken heart discarded, carcinogenic lungs departed
my only soul sold because it made feel so cold...
and I can't stop this because i didn't start it
I want to be young again, I hate feeling old.

read me like a book, touch me like im real
give me a long slow look,show me how to feel.
put the cigarette out all the way this time
make my death pretty, make me rhyme.