Cigarette Girl

 

I didn’t smoke in life.

The fake cigarette

is between my lips now.

 

I’m dead, I think.

I can’t move,

so I can feel for a pulse.

 

I’m a museum piece

and the only one able to see

the whole room.

 

There are two of them.

They work together in tandem

to make us beautiful.

 

Maybe, I am alive.

I feel myself breathing,

at least.

 

I won’t be for long.

it’s time for the trash

to be thrown out.

Goodbye.

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About blackwinterrosethorn

I am an artist and a writer whose living in Virginia. I go to Hollins University and I am a double minor in Creative Writing and Music. I've been writing for about eleven or twelve years. I've been singing forever and I have been drawing and painting for four or five years. I am open to doing commissions and collaborative pieces. View all posts by blackwinterrosethorn

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