this one makes me think of sex
and then forget again
being raped in a bathroom
so it’s the cigarette
i might want after great sex
and it’s the cigarette
i smoke to forget rape sex
i still can’t scream
i’m still trapped
in tile and glass cages
that’s when you think of a cigarette
and then when you are here
wherever you are
catching those slow, deep
poisonous breaths
you aren’t there
where your whole life
was taken away from you
‘cause you have to spend
the rest of your life using restrooms
restrooms where there is no rest
Cigarette Number Six is for this
and for after the shower
that will never cleanse
contaminated brain cells
you get through that hell
again
to the other side
and breathe
and maybe cry a little
because you still can’t remember
what happened in the end
in that big black void
you know you forgot
‘cause it was real bad
you light up a cigarette
you have a smoke
and a good cry
or not
just cold numb nothingness
nothing but a cigarette
so good in the rain
to remind you that you are alive
you are breathing
and the rain falls for you
for all the tears you can cry
or can’t cry
trying to cry away those memories
corrupted interrupted amygdala dendrites
and how they painted the rest of your life
in tile and glass cages
where no one can hear you
even if you do scream
Doren Damico is an artist, educator, and writer based in LA, California. Her first book, When You Can’t Scream… Or 10 Reasons Why I Smoke, includes poetry, photography, and an intimate narrative that explores her journey of trauma, acceptance, and healing. Doren’s poetry can also be found in: “Coiled Serpent: Poets Arising from the Cultural Quakes and Shifts of Los Angeles,” “2016 In The Words of Women International Anthology,” and “Nuclear Impact: Broken Atoms in Our Hands.”