Home

Today it is three years since I stopped smoking. I refuse to say ‘quit’ as the word gives me too much pressure. This poem is dedicated to my burned-out lungs.

In for a long time

I touch your lips
in fear.

I have the shortest life
in your hands.

I have the longest life
in a carton.

I am sold over the world
in a store.

I start my journey
in a factory.

I remain untouched
in a box.

I live
in a moment.

I die
in a longer moment.

I am
in your lungs,
in for a long time.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s