smoking, pure nicotine
down your veins and up your throat.
you're neither sore nor serene,
you're just stupid cold.
spring's an indifferent widow
of a dead spread winter.
birds outside your window
sing their winning anthems.
summer may give you some light
next autumn you'll regret.
but you can't resist or fight
apocalypse in your head.
smoking
© Copyright: Катя Неместная, 2010
Свидетельство о публикации №110060201353
Свидетельство о публикации №110060201353
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