I want to start out by saying this is probably the best outcome of quality poems I've ever gotten from a contest. There was no clear winner. I had a very, very hard time determining who I thought was the best, and because of that I've added some "honorable mention" prizes and places. Also, I've done a little commentary on every entry. I highly suggest you go through and read this wonderful collection!

Thank you to all who entered. Even if you did not win, remember that I was absolutely enthralled by the thought I could inspire any of the amazing pieces that have been entered. Thank you all, again.

So, let's get down the business to defeat the Huns

In first place is

:iconSilverInkblot: takes cigarettes to the question of mortality in this absolutely breathtaking (pun not intended) poem.

An hourglass between his knucklesHe quit smoking because he
didn’t like the taste of his own
mortality; bitter, brackish, black
as his lungs. Didn’t like the pull
of nicotine, ashy fingers,
the way a cigarette looked like
an hourglass pinched between his knuckles.
The ashtray began
to fill up again after his wife
died. Every day at first; an entire
pack after her funeral; a box
every three days; one flicker
of light in the evenings spent leaning
on the balcony railing,
watching the city go by through
a veil of smoke and memories.
I bought a pack for him once, just
to use my ID for something.
It’s still sitting on his coffee
table, one cigarette short.

Second place goest to

:iconsciencevsart: submitted a emotional roller coater put to words. Enough said.

A Curious FallI
Wisps of smoke spiral
around his lungs, catching his
breath, diving under
his eyelids
Why does something so soft have teeth
Like
Your broken smile
Broken teeth
Grinning up at me like I owe you something
My arms are like candlewax
My head a fuse
Shorter by the hour
Never burn out, my love
II
Rain falls
From his mouth
You know because of the
clouds behind his pupils, cursing you with thunder
Why does something so far seem so beautiful
Like
Your keen fingers
On my skin
Hunting like pack dogs
Yesterday, you asked me
Why I draw crop circles in mist
I laughed
There is no time left
III
His pen is rolling around
Willing to be picked up
And expended, discarded,
Like all else he had
Why does something so quiet seem so alive.

And in third place is

:iconsetmyworldintomotion: sets up a painfully accurate portrayal of depression and anxiety with mastery over her words.

Honorable mentions to (and 20 points!):

:iconchancerox:'s work is an array of images with a rather wonderful use of language (English and otherwise.)

elmer's cigars 
i’ve really enjoyed exploring the extent elmer’s glue,
even though it’s dried in between my fingers; it makes me feel like i still have scars to finger.
me and my grandmother (ma grandmere et moi), we plastered it onto our varicose veins and inside the cracks of our bone stone walls
 as she lights another cigarette,
    as another smoke vein wafts toward my heart (déplace-t-elle ton coeur?)
beaten down, beaten down, fall down stairs
 as the third one creaks
    as the fifth one gives
i forget how to breath (mais c’est à peine été!)
Edie and I cut her rosery quite well
in fact, even my blood started blossoming.
(it smells like her ashtray)

creates a poem with an interesting manipulation of word form, spoken like breathing in.

Stubs of a Cigaretteopaque tendrils whispering—
vaporous poison clogging airways
choked by outlawed sentiments
slogging through azure veins
fleeing a traitorous organ; thrumming
[ming] [ming] to a hidden metronome—
winding haze stimulating snippets of
simpering emotions conspiring the
ultimate coup d’état; the metronome
staggers …an illuminated stub weaving
maleficent murmurings and swirling
stuttering sidebars; the metronome
forfeits, refusing to save a cluttered organ
cigarette stubs..ignited at single ends;
convalescer of stress, debt caller of life.

:iconpapernation: created a vividly emotional piece with gorgeous imagery.

enough sound to fill the silence.its barely summer,
and he's already forgotten
how to breathe;
smoke curling around
paper lungs,
crumbling lungs,
pathetic,
blackened & shriveled up
dying-on-the-bathroom-floor lungs.
just like you.
you with your fragile blown glass heart,
your crippled cigarette heart-
burnt out, the last lingering embers
glowing faintly,
from the bottom of the waste paper bin.
but its all ok,
because you're going to use this
last weak, persistent flame
to ignite an inferno.
if you're going to die young,
you might as well go with a blast,
big enough and loud enough
to mask the shattering sound
of a broken girl's soul.

Other mentionable contestants include:

:iconiwanttobeemmapeel: entered two heartbreaking, cleverly-done pieces that brought tears to my eyes.

Barely Summernothing feels like dying,
nothing feels like air
escaping from lungs
and not being replaced,
like a heart slowing
nothing.
i am only just sixteen
and i have made a mistake
so big
that i will never make one again,
the First of June is the tattoo
on my grave.
ripped skin and smudged eyeliner,
blood pouring from my body,
i lie twisted in ways limbs should not,
the ringing in my ears drowning out
the people mouthing questions.
what happened?
a bike lies feet away from me,
the evidence of my misadventure,
i remember flying through space
into darkness,
surrounded by stars -
or is that cars?
i should be with friends,
family,
instead i am circled by strangers,
the mantra running around in my head
i’mdyingi’mdyingi’mdyingi’mdyingi’mdying
alone in my fear.
it’s barely summer
but I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
                                    (dial nine nine nine Recipe for a WriterStart with a serious child.
Give them loving parents who have their own problems.
Add an unhealthy dollop of incest.
Take away their confidence
And their confidante.
Give that child some hope
That quickly turns to
O
 C
  D
(Or CDO as it should be known - the letters in the right order)
Avoid cracks when making this recipe
- in the pavement, that is,
There will be plenty of invisible cracks when you're done.
Give the child lashings of bullying
And take away their courage
Continue bullying until you have a suicidal ten-year-old.
Take them to DisneyWorld before they kill themselves.
Give them a pet rabbit to show the open affection that they are not shown.
(You will remove this rabbit two years down the line)
Send them to secondary school to ensure that they are sufficiently shaken and harassed.
Kill their pets.
Give them back their depression, with some eating disorder added into the mix.
Make them try to kill themselves when they are fifteen.
Diagnose them with Asperger's.
Add rape when

:iconithaswhatitisnt: asks the eternal question: how much can a heart break before it stops beating?

plays on your heatstrings with this wonderfully woven piece of doubt.

secretly broken.on my sweet sixteenth
he showed up at my door
with bandaged hands
and a bouquet of roses.
my daddy was rich
and he was broke,
so he sang a stupid love song
about how our roses don't have thorns.
i fall halfway into love,
but then i wonder,
what if i am a thorn?
on my seventeenth birthday
he rang my doorbell,
holding a set of plastic china,
his buttons in the wrong holes
and smelling of cheap perfume.
my daddy wasn't rich
and he wasn't broke,
but he still sang a stupid love song
about how our love will never shatter.
i'm stuck in love,
but then i wonder,
when will the china break?
on my eighteenth birthday,
he showed up at my funeral,
his buttons in the wrong holes
and smelling of cheap perfume.
my daddy was broken
and he was broke again.
he sang a song
about how much he would miss me.
i laugh in death,
and say,
liar.

:iconkittykatmwuster: takes the prompts and seamlessly folds them into this lovely poem.

i don't think you realizedIt's barely summer, but I've forgotten how to breathe
And as a punishment, you tore my heart from my sleeve
    (threaded it with your cigarette smoke, and
    pasted it to my lungs)
Well, I guess it doesn't matter
    'cause it was already secretly broken
but maybe that's just me

:iconfoxofebony: forms a piece that draws you into a tragedy.

summerWent and forgot how to breathe
Spent all my time trying to grieve
For my world has gone up in smoke
Left me alone to struggle and choke
No sign of people, but voices around
They don’t understand you’ve stolen my ground
From right under my feet
Hit me so hard I flew out my seat
Nothing to do but give in and fall
Begging, praying for the strength to crawl
Endless nights calling your name
But still my life remains the same
Then arms clutch me tight
Keep me safe in the night
Till there comes the dawn
And my heart starts to morn
For my future, my past
Those summer days meant to last
Now I’m crying for rain
To wash away all my pain
I know it seems wrong
But the truth is
I was never that strong.

:iconhazereality: entered the only prose work here, which holds all the poignancy of emotion of its title.

:thumb406039371:

:iconkori-fuzy: entered a piece that shows a turmoiled inner emotion.

Secretly broken +contest+I awake in sorrow
& breathe in despair
& I can't scream out
I can't even sigh
But if I could,
you'd know that for a long time
I have been secretly broken.
I wish I could die
I crash into water
& learn to breathe
a foreign body,
A being I never knew of getting lost.
The sun moans out ghastly
& I arise in a different life
one I never knew of water
of blues of violets
But a wave of want washes over me
& the pain sets in.
Forcing a desolated life back onto my lap
& back into my head.