“To the Disgusting Garbage Humanoids”
I Don’t Want to Inhale Your Cigarette Smoke
by Kurdish warrior
You stand there,
holding your tiny fires
like gods of nothing,
blowing your breath into the air we all share
as if it belongs to you.
You stain the sky with your habits.
You perfume the wind with poison.
You smile while I choke —
and then dare to call it “freedom.”
You are not rebels.
You are not deep.
You are not cool.
You are garbage in human shape,
a slow death with a heartbeat,
dragging your ash across every entrance, every sidewalk,
every breath I never gave you permission to touch.
I don’t want your secondhand sorrow.
I don’t want your tired addiction.
I don’t want your stink inside my lungs
when all I asked for was air.
I walk through your smoke
like through a war I didn’t start.
And still,
you pretend not to see me.
You say: “Just move away.”
But this is my world, too.
And I don’t owe you silence
just because you’re slowly dying
and want company.
No.
Die alone.