Stained Monochrome Wings

Blackened

12-31-13

You smelled of cigarettes

and of sick and lonely

teenage boy.

This was anticipated,

this shitty poem,

these reoccurring Gatsby feelings.

Self-harm when the sun comes up,

an overdose during the day.

Suicide by sunset

of a manic depressive.

Cover it up with this façade,

and smother it in your vices

like you've always done.

Put down the cigarette, let’s forget.

Your lungs, black.

Like your hair and heart.