the first time a boy

smoked too many

cigarettes because

of me, he became

a man. he coughed

my blood into his

palms, tasted my

iron & grit, his tongue

finally learned the

inside of my body.

he clutched his chest

and felt only my heart-

beat. the pulse of a

moving car is one akin

to racing cattle or maybe

just a fever the moment

before its break.

i do not know what it

means to break; only

to burn out like a brilliant

star, or just another

addict’s mistake.