by Eugenia Wang
I smoke pens like cigarettes
Melt the ink and plastic and breathe in the poison
My lungs are black like they’ve been written on.
I breathe it out ten times worse,
The smell of burning rubber staying where I hold the grip
And black spit drips down my chin and grays my paper
To stain my hands like cancer.
This is a quaint thought
Written in ink because my mouth is black and stuck together.
I hold a pen between two fingers
Then between my teeth.
I never gave it a second thought.
I smoke pens like cigarettes
Is what I maintain
I supply ink veins supply my brain.
