It’s Blue Oyster Cult and it’s stuck in the wild waves
Of choppy hair, the silt gray eyes, and upside-down grin
That tastes like smoke and knows how to spell “trouble”.
I can stare endlessly at the sounds coming out of your mouth
And never figure out how you spin gold in there.
White gold.
Platinum.
.
The engine purrs as the car creeps through private property,
Classical rock whispering in the background.
Gravel peppers the underbody with gentle kisses,
Leaving lipstick marks of dirt all along the paint.
In the quiet like this, I can hear the question in your eyes.
I can hear it float out the open windows into the black night.
We’re just passers-by here, aren’t we?
.
And we’re flying, hitting 100 miles per hour in the country,
Whipping past beetles and corn and barking dogs.
The folk songs have shifted to sounds of warning.
A lone call amidst a very dark, moonless autumn night.
There was never any way out of making these memories.
We can only dive through the veil of thick smoke
And wait for the goodbye.
.
Because it is not a matter of if but when it will arrive.
Already the night has turned angry with the bite of winter.
I have breathed out the last of my warm sanity.
The frost has crept across my heart and I am scared.
Deep inside, the essence of me has begun to rot from the cold
And it is all I want to be devoured by you while the blood in my veins
Is still warm enough to steam so please, make me bleed.
.
Press tooth to skin and draw blood.
There is no moon tonight to judge this decision,
This barbaric tattooing of skin with memories.
Drink my blood and offer me an eternity of this slow destruction.
Or let me die.
Let me bleed out across your lips and let tomorrow’s moon
Wonder where I had run off to.
.
It feels good, doesn't it, to take a drink of the tobacco in my blood?
I'm inhaling it deep tonight, 'cus I can taste your warm ideals
On every drag of this cigarette.
You rattled on too much about your future.
The cold wind couldn't rip it from the cabin and now,
Ah, now I get to drink it up like an addict
And look through lazy eyes as you taste my perception of you.
_______________________________________
A/N: This is another in the Cigarette series. Enjoy! The rest are all below.
As well, I'd like to pose you all a question. How many of you would be interested in an exclusive subscription? I'm toying with different ideas but don't want to restrict your access to my work. One of the ideas I'm playing with is to release most of my explicit material there which includes several future poems in this collection, a handful of short stories, a few chapters/series, and some microfiction.
If I used this new feature, I'd likely be uploading one or twice a week (Wednesday and Friday) since I'd want to give you a good bang for your buck. Anyway, if you feel comfortable, let me know your take!
Cigarette and Placeholder Dreams
About the Creator
Silver Daux
Shadowed souls, cursed magic, poetry that tangles itself in your soul and yanks out the ugly darkness from within. Maybe there's something broken in me, but it's in you too.
Ah, also:
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Comments (6)
So vivid and grounding yet also surreal and vampiric! I don’t know how you do it but it is beyond impressive the way you weave such a blend of narrative detail and emotional expression
"The barbaric tattooing of skin with memories", that was my favourite line! As for Exclusive Stories, I'm so sorry, I cannot afford it 😅
"Gravel peppers the underbody with gentle kisses, Leaving lipstick marks of dirt all along the paint. In the quiet like this, I can hear the question in your eyes. I can hear it float out the open windows into the black night. We’re just passers-by here, aren’t we?" Stunning! And really, that's just one part. I could have highlighted the whole thing. Incredible writing. Also, the mention of Blue Oyster Cult and reapers was quite the earworm, but as I kept reading, I swear I could hear Radar Love playing in the background. Really, really well done.
The lyrical quality and turn of phrase in this is wonderful. Really enjoyed reading this.
I was there. I think that's the biggest compliment I can give.
Wow but that's amazing! I think I've told you before that your writings often remind me of Bruce Springsteen's lyrics. That is a huge compliment as I consider the lyricists of past years to be avid storytellers. You, sir, are a master storyteller.