I Wish I Still Smoked by Robert Wilson

There is
misanthropy on my
breath and
dried blood
lodged beneath my
fingernails. I can’t
tell if it belongs
to me or
the planet I
lamentably walk on.
I fill these
summer nights with
the cracks of
knuckles against
drywall, trying to make
symphonies from
subjugation. It never
works and never
will but that
won’t stop me. I’ll
drink anxiety to
keep me awake
just to be
sure. All these failures
I refuse to eject
from my arteries when
I could just French kiss
the sun instead. It
would be my
last kiss. It would
be my first look
into beaming,
bleak reality.

Robert Wilson is a writer and poet from Morgantown, WV. His writing is known for being dark, confessional, and cathartic. Robert's work has been published in San Gabriel Valley Poetry Quarterly, Amomancies, Deep Water Literary Journal, and others. He loves coffee and pasta.

Robert Wilson is a writer and poet from Morgantown, WV. His writing is known for being dark, confessional, and cathartic. Robert’s work has been published in San Gabriel Valley Poetry Quarterly, Amomancies, Deep Water Literary Journal, and others. He loves coffee and pasta.

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