I sit living
breathing oxygen
deep into sinewy
recesses.
You sit dying
choking on
carbon dioxide
clouds.
I feel
heavy because
of your shortened
fuse.
You feel
shaky wobbly
raspy not yet
ready.
I sit living
as the irreverent
snuffer puts out your
light.
© Pamela A. Rossow
The poem does lead one to believe you are talking about someone that smokes, or I should say it did me. Any prolonged suffering is miserable. The blown out candle photo is so perfect for your poem:) It lends to the content.
I may have to change it or just leave it the way it is. . .not sure. Yes, I am not a fan of watching others suffer. I’ve seen enough of it!
See? I thought it was about a candle!!!
A
Yeah, yeah, A!!!! Hope you’re feeling better!
I was thinking dying from smoking as i lit another ciggy… but then I saw death…of a life…a slow death…deep from inside….amazing words…As always..XOXOXO
Awh Bonnie, much love and hugs!!!!! xoxoxo
I feel sad for our neighbor, too. He was so full of life and always ready for a chat. Life isn’t fair as we find out over and over again.
Hoping for a miracle. . .
But the process of death can also be beautiful
yes, I still don’t like seeing people suffer though. . .
Some teenagers start smoking in middle school and never can quit. It’s a rough life for them as they start finding out that places to smoke are becoming fewer in number.
True, bad, bad. It wasn’t really about smoking but death and shutting down.