writer

like cigarettes

this coffee tastes like cigarettes.
it reminds me of our mornings
tangled in bed
ashes burning
smoke churning.
i’d look at you
through rays of grey
the first sunshine
of the day
peeking through
and over you.

this coffee tastes like cigarettes.
it reminds me of the times
that we bled.

a.absi

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i am not broken

I found home in myself.
And when I did that, nothing else mattered. My pains ached a little less. My walls deteriorated. My heart had seeded flowers.
I found home in myself.
And when I did that, everything else mattered. My pains were not sadness and anger, they were growth. My vulnerability was a blessing. My heart did not fear blooming.

a.absi

the light at no end

even after all this time
even after all the lies
even after all the pain
and all the times
my eyes did rain
you were the light
at the end of the tunnel.

you were the light
and the tunnel
and you see
that’s what got me.

a.absi

 

image taken by me in Santa Barbara, CA… See more at aalexphoto.tumblr.com