Dear Cigarette,
You make me feel dizzy and drunk after I smoke you. Why would I want to feel that way? I don't really. So there must be something I'm avoiding. Or maybe something I'm trying to remember.
You taste like someone I used to know. But you also make my breath and hands stink. Your smell permeates everything. You used to taste good but you don't anymore. You are not the person I used to know, you are not a person at all. You don't love me. The second I take you in you begin to disappear. So I have to chase you again, chase this thing that could kill me and leaves me feeling dizzy, lousy, and worried after I have it.
And still, even as I write this, I want you again. Addiction is insane. To want you after all that I've wrriten here is insane. So part of me is crazy. And you're not crazy, are you, Cigarette? You disappearing act, you with no mind or soul at all. You who devolves into tar.
Fuck off,
Lungs
Dear Genevieve,
No more disappearing acts. No more taking in things that don't give back.
Love,
Yourself
Awwe, I wrote "Love yourself." It's nice, I know.
5 comments:
I once wrote a letter to my old friend Moderation. Though, come to think of it, I'm not sure that we were ever friends - she was more that cool girl at the other side of the room that I always really *wanted* to be friends with.
I still catch glimpses of her every now and then; I'm not exactly holding my breath, but you never know.
Dear Gens,
Thanks so much!
Love,
Your Lungs (and anyone within a one-block radius)
Dear Mel & Tom,
Y'all are too damn funny.
love,
Gen
Thats cute.
Hali Lee,
Thanks for the comment, man!
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