Oct 10, 2015
I took up smoking in hopes of ridding you of me. I singed your breath, your soul, from my lungs until I bled from my throat and spoke in a haze. Burning your finger prints from my arms left me with constellations of scars that were so much more beautiful than the ones you gifted me. I painted my face with ash, a fury of war paint to approach you, and only spoke to you through a veil of smoke to mask your hated face; blotted you from our pictures, dark, angry soot stains that transformed us into vengeful spirits. I swear, I'd tithe my body and soul to get your ghosts from me.
a.j.b
