I promised my mother that I would never smoke cigarettes but here I am with you. It seems to be that I am addicted and you are the nicotine, how cliché. I remember in middle school when someone showed me how battery acid melts styrofoam instantly, and that was just one of the many deadly chemicals in those little white sticks. I imagine your touch to be something like that, my skin melting to the bone as you pour yourself over me. It's funny, because I watched my mother smoke for years, when she were upset or anxious she would smoke more to feed her addiction and calm down; I think I may have found my newest addiction. There is something so flammable about you and I will light you over and over again and inhale you because I need a rush. Soon it will turn into a dependency but I don't mind. "I can quit anytime." know I promised I would never touch those cancer sticks but if that was the only form I could find you in, I would smoke a pack a day for the rest of my life.

what does she do with her hands?
they lie in her lap, and her tapestry falls to the floor
  
when the woven basket that carried food to the table
breaks under the weight of time,
my daughter will starve

what does she do with her hands?
they lie in her lap, and her tapestry falls to the floor

when the clay that sculpted gods
is dried and cracking and lacking water,
my son too will die of thirst

what does she do with her hands?
they lie in her lap, and her tapestry falls to the floor

when the leaves that adorned the pillows of our bed
burn up in the fire of technology's rumbling belly
there will be no desire to touch the world

and what should she do with her hands?
she must pick them up from her lap
and heal the earth.

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"