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UNTITLED
BY MATTHEW QUINN
Why do I smoke?
It's because I grew up with Death as my next door neighbor.
I watched as he danced and played with everything I ever loved.
He would fmd someone in particular
Close to me
And he would dance so beautifully with them in his arms.
A dance like the one the white smoke does as it leaves from my poisoned lungs.
I watched as he danced with my grandparents, my aunts, my friends, and my
sister.
I watched as the dance would come to an end, and he would take them back to his
house
I watched as their beautiful faces faded into the shadows
And the door of his mourning home closed behind them.
And the next time it opened, I would see only him come out
To dance with another one of my own.
Why do I smoke?
It's because I grew up with my parents telling me to smile.
A glimmer of innocence in a world of despair.
A memory of times when their mouths could stretch as far
They asked me to smile
To remind them of what they too at one point could do
But no longer because they too watched the solemn dances one after the other
They hoped I would smile
That I would never have to endure the pain
that comes from looking deep into the blank stare of lifeless eyes
Or the blue skin of soulless bodies
I can no longer smile with the innocence of my younger self
My parents can only watch as day to day my smile fades
Like an old portrait left to bare the seasons alone.
Fading as the long burning stick fades with every inhale.
Why do I smoke?
It's because from a young age I had to be okay.
I had to be the shoulder to cry on
The bigger person
The savior
It never mattered how I felt, as long as I was helping those around me.
I was just a pawn, placed to protect the more favorable pieces on the field
I had to be there for those who were hurting
No matter how severe my own injuries were.
Like a lit cigarette, I burned down until nothing but the filter remained
I had served my purpose
To relieve them of all pain
And now I have my cigarette
To relieve mine
