She waves her cigarette as she talks
Wafts of smoke framing her grin like a wreath
Burning paper and ashy debris and spite
choking throat; warning on label not heeded.
The truth is I cannot breathe; neither your air
Nor your ambience is bearable.
A smoke screen separates us, I’m sorry—
I can’t inhale your space nor your advice.

This poem is included in The Sophomore Year Experience poetry compilation.


About Amy

Amy is a freelance writer and artist based in LA. Her hobbies include romanticizing her world, having too many moody thoughts, and wandering through neighborhoods she's never been in.
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