choke hold

My lasting breath
nearest to death
held against my lips
inside my chest
a moment of
Isn't this nice...
A little device
A past-time vice
I light my cigarette-

It draws me in
I whither me thin
A long stem,
when
where
I haven't been
behind myself
again.

Tonight
fighting against
my monsters' request-
"suck me into your poisoness breast"
as I lift my
fingertips,
and to my left,
rests a tray of torsos
twisted and dead,
in a grave of soil
I have kept,
my name, my number,
my internalized world...
My softest sense of smell.

My lungs
my heart
my bed of hell
webbed in a charcoiled
double pink box
or
6 feet under
a
brown sheet of rock
with but one noise
from under its spell-
a muffled
and
polite
little cough.