Death

 

 

 

 

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

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12 thoughts on “Death

  1. 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.

  2. 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

  3. 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.

  4. 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.

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