CIGARETTES ARE KILLING ME — PLEASE HELP ME QUIT

CIGARETTES ARE KILLING ME — PLEASE HELP ME QUIT - Nia Di Gennaro

May 12, 2023

It’s easy to forget

The feeling of rooms

I’ve mourned

The houses I’ve left

I've mourned

Sunday flowers

Arranged in sepian

In a moment of lightness

I became a sponge for it

Airy

And float

Over the embers of last nights fuckery

I’ve thought it correct to wake up sore

And wash the finery owned by old hands

Play slave

And grate

Play beaten ash

To one’s weight

Desire the boil of whip wounds

To Drug-On

Tick tombs

Slink into the corner cabinet

Lick wounds

Swallow mild feminist rubbish

Delivered weak

Asinine dribble

Emerge moronic

Wet consume

Your tales of now

Help me to wake bitter

Spit hot superiority

Bullseye

To the back of a lovers throat

And stir

For years

And burn and shake

In bled fury

It’s all very simple

We own no other

We possess nothing

But our bodies encased

But our actions, purposeful

But our spirits, fine

And all that happened

Was that he was tired

And wanted to rest beastly

The ailing joke -

He remained so

Blue moons after he woke

Slip and gorge

Gush and spit up

Spew up

Convulse

And pull up

And note

The vexed affliction inside

The nightfall that would befall

Inside of me

The wicked thoughts

That flow fucky

Licorice whipping through my blood, hasty

Dull rouge

Rough and blue

Rushing devastating waves

Running through me

Rushing through me

Ringing through me

Eating at me

Grating in me

Hating through me

Growing fawn

Within me

Growling sorrel
In me

From in me

Forgive me

Give in to me

Live within me

Be in me

Protect me

To remedy me

Because of me

Anchor roots

The whole way through me

Reach arms wide

Act as shade

Above me

To shadow me

To read me

To keep me

To feed me

Feed me

Fucking feed me

Take care of me

Flush and level through me

And glide past me

Drive past me

And melt

Like a second kiss

To the nostalgic rune of me

Hold remorse for me

Wave goodbye to me

Feel for me

Feel me

And be kind to me

Show pity on me

And suffer

With me

It's important

To suffer like me

And

Live beside me

And

Leave from inside of me

Written by Nia Di Gennaro

Comments

Going to Hell - Alex Kudera

The years raced by until I found myself standing on a street corner in China. I was in Xi’an, and I was in my wife’s old neighborhood. We lived in her tiny studio—a few narrow rooms, linoleum floors, hot pot and range, no oven or fridge. A plastic seat on the toilet so frangible, I broke it twice by sitting down. Twenty-first century living in yesterday’s mainland. An authentic experience in the world. But I was out for a stroll. This is what I loved to do—walk and look around. It was hot, but the neighborhood was out and about. A crowd stood alone or congregated on every corner. Laolao and Yeye claimed every spot on rusty metal benches shaded by trees. Many more people walked in the sun. They had umbrellas; I did not. In ten minutes, I strode around the corner and up the block. The sun’s bright rays seared my retinas. The heat beat against the pavement and splashed ...

F.A.M.E - Ryan Lambert

CHAMBER A barren room with textured, off-white wallpaper holds a black sensory deprivation tank, sleeping quarters that hew more closely to a mausoleum. Who's inside? The outside of the device is coated with flashing screens cycling through a dynamic assortment of imagery, replicating the chaos of a social media newsfeed: bathing suit thirst traps, overly-composed lunch photos, war crime footage, ads for every imaginable product, and digital detritus like glitching links, disembodied thumbs, and floating hearts. This semiotic sensory nightmare is scored by thick droning noise. CHAPEL Darkness recedes to the edges of a small pentagonal shrine, the perimeter delineated by prayer candles of a distinctly commercial variety. In the center sits Iris, goth attire, shock of vibrant ginger hair draped over her shoulders, intertwined with glowing green vials of toxic waste. Spread around her are an eclectic mix of esoteric spell-books and tabloid magazines. Her eyes are closed i...

In Terminal Gridlock - Jim Meirose

How the hell much longer will it be before we inch up one foot again damn . and that and that and that and-d-d . where the hell’s the cops eh . late to the dentist again damn they’re going to say sorry find yourself another . with a screaming child in the back to boot I got all the . y’know they ought to do this damn stuff in the middle of the night not . who the hell died, God themselves . . . . Inch up, up— stop . . . . damn thing’s going to flood out again hear that . the one time I leave on time and look at this can’t win . what is this gross thing they’re building here anyway . ought to have brought a book with me or . and you know, BackWhang! I swear—when I get in first thing I’m going to do is call the God-damned town . there’s time got to get out and look at that tire. It’s low again . what time is it . gas on E got to get there come on Jesus Christ . I think I read it’s going to be a Jai alai center . how many more hours is this going to go on for...

Soyos Shorts

Search This Blog