Treasure Island

rains of bloom


Cigarettes


I hear your voices
in the cold empty streams
and see your face in mirrors,
i look for you
but can't find you
your an optical illusion.

I feel your presence beside me
and feel the sturdiness of your palm
I smell the tobacco that consumed you,
and watch as mothers cry
from loss of love and ambition.

I see you in graveyards
coming to haunt the dead
and coming to demoralize the living.
I see you beside tombstones,
hearing echoes in my head.
Its like you have something to say to me
but you can't,
because your DEAD.

Submitted: Sunday, August 18, 2013
Edited: Monday, August 19, 2013

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