SMOKING
Candice James
Copyright 2009
Ashes,
Painting blow away pictures
Of half envisioned astral views,
The burnt out residue
Of a flaming thought
Surrendering to gray oblivion.
And I think
Cigarettes have something better to tell.
Have you ever listened to one of their secret stories?
I have,
And now I know why the Earth
Is tipping a little more
On its axis each day;
And now I know
Why I love a little more each day;
And now I know everything,
Because, I smoke.
STOLEN NIGHTMARE
Candice James
Copyright 2009
Like a blue midnight haze,
A disassembled feeling hangs by a thread
At the edge of this stolen nightmare.
Damp, and waxing wetter,
It’s the centre of an aging teardrop
That’s carelessly fallen down
A staircase of broken dreams.
There is a heart print on the mirror
Reflecting broken wings and fractured memories.
In search of some obscure unanswered questions,
Mindless and motionless
And steering with a cracked compass
I’m lost at the edge of this stolen nightmare.
It never belonged to me, and now,
I wonder why I ever stole this nightmare