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Young Writers Project: Cigarette



By Mingo Maquera,  Age 17, St. Albans, VT

I still smell your smoke

on my body and I begin to choke

back my tears but I fail,

remembering the Hard'ack trail

when we began to coexist.

It had been a while since I was kissed

but you weren't sure.

I did not know

in every kiss and staring eye

you hid a secret last goodbye.

I should have cherished every time

your lips were holding on to mine

and you were perfect. I should know

eventually you'd have to go.

But you went like applause,

a familiar walk to your garage,

where I am trying not to cough

to show that I am man enough

to share the cancer in your lungs.

I never got to be this young.

I am hurt.

I'm human.

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