Asphyxiation I woke this morning being asphyxiated by her soft tender lips. My lungs felt like they were bleeding fire and searing my tastebuds with after death mints. Believe it or not, I wanted to kiss her more on the lips, like a child wanting to nestle amongst his mother’s plump breasts for nourishment and warmth. She was my everything and I was her rube. I’d stand in the cold, the rain, even if a tsunami came knocking, I’d breathe her in deep, leaving love trails on my tender lungs, causing me to exasperate my unhealthy condition. Even though death was evident, I couldn’t stop sucking, no matter my willpower or lack there of. It was futile to think otherwise and a bit shameful hiding in the shadows, like a dirty secret that was an open book. I could see her crawling on her knees out of breath, whispering to me to come to her, reaching out to hold me close. It was embarrassing that she had such a hold on me. Such lack of control on my part... an invalid. She was suffocating me in her own carbon dioxide, with each puff that wisps past my nostrils and into my lungs... I was slowly dying. At the time I lacked caring or compassion for my own wellbeing. Even if I planted a rainforest, it couldn’t safe me now... a moot point. My own blade, from my own knife, stuck in me, by me, to minimize me, because I hated me, with enough passion to want to kill Myself. Even if it was slow, it was deliberate... self-immolation. There was a voice in my head, telling me her heart was dead, she was #lifeless, not real, an inanimate object, a trap, a ruse it kept saying. A ruse, a ruse out to get you, it repeated itself many times and it sounded like many voices, overlapping with wicked laughter and no matter what I tried to do to drown them out, the laughter got louder and the harder I tried, the louder the voices become... a defiant child. She was rotting between my lips or putrescent my lips, it’s hard to say, one of us was rancid... fetid filled the air. I felt numb, addled, exhausted, as a manic voice, begged me to stop puffing so hard on her butt. It apparently was deforming her filter, making it look huge, enormous, disfigured, mangled and I was slobbering the tip with my lips, leaving her... a moist discomfort. She wanted none of that. Petite is sweet she’d say as a ritual to calm herself, when she became overwhelmed with emotions or acted erratic. “Petite is sweet, petite is sweet, petite is sweet” a soft voice could be heard saying, until she was calm, less fretted and no longer agonizing in anguish over... dysmorphophobia I tried to reassure her, that her butt was normal in size, shape and the feel upon my lips... heavenly. I begged her to let me take her home, to lay her out amongst the roses. I wanted to devour her essence slowly, with each puff of smoke that filled my cheeks and lungs. I wanted her to know I loved her, with each smoke ring, I produced a flawless circle, allowing it to float away... was her liberation. Some days I wanted to stomp on you, like all the others, when they puffed their last puff of your stub. I wanted to leave you out in the wild, so some animal would play with you, gnaw you to pieces, like an old weathered ragged doll... shreds everywhere. If you were lucky, they’d eat you whole, but most likely they tore out your marrow and left the husks, to blow in the wind. I couldn’t do that to you. It would hurt me to much, if I treated you less than a quality brand of tobacco. I was tempted though, so many times, tempted by your many crimes. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye, I dropped dead from hypoxia, if only my lungs had more oxygen, I’d still be alive to hold you... one more time. A nephew wrote and read this at my funeral. They all thought it was cute from a five year old. I don’t get the cuteness, do you? “Your are dead! So many puffs off her head. Now you’re dead, now you’re dead, now you’re dead, you took one to many puffs off her head Quick as that, now you’re dead”! Ha! Ha! I wasn’t the only casualty from our intimate tryst, of my lips and her butt. My lungs and heart never forgave us. She woke this morning and couldn’t breathe, six feet of dirt was piled on her, nestled deep in the wilderness, out of reach of children. That’s how my family felt about her. They buried her alive, without a care for my feelings towards her or her own wellbeing. They didn’t find our intimacy and our lack of privacy all that amusing At the least, they could have done, was returned the packs... for a full refund William Henry Mills Jr 05-02-2018/ 04-05-2019 #poem #poetry #asphyxiation #wordporn #write #writers #selfimmolation #slowsuicide #Stopsmoking #smokingkills #thetruth #lungcancer #deathmints #addiction #cancerstick #cigarettes #cigs #lifeordeath #pallmall #marlboro #winston #oldcowboys #cowboys #themarlboroman #cigaretteskill #deathstick #finishit #quit #timetoquit #forafullrefund