Addictive Personalities Are Genetic.


There is never a plausible excuse to skin the knees of those you love,
by taking their training wheels off too soon as they collapse into thorny bushes,
nor allow them to burn from their once fiery child-like wonder
to picking up a cigarette,
old habits don’t die hard,
that’s why second, third, and fourth generation smokers still exist
Home is not where the heart is,
Home is the name given to places that keeps you warm without being burned;
making you feel whole again,
after years of being hollow

Do not mistake people as a shelter-
find comfort in your own soul
and these hands that open life's doors

You don’t have to be shadowed by your supposed love ones, 
you do not have to lose your voice,
or grasp upon the rotting wooden front porch door, 
leaving splinters in your fingertips

Your lungs, like deflated balloons 
exasperated to walk into the war, 
the foundation you dwell in

Clawing your way from the disapproval of cruel words, 
you don’t have to lose your heart in that messy place

Someone who claims to believe in you,

shreds you: to sculpt something better
is not worthy of being marveled-

There are some things even the devil knows he was never fit for, 
and some companions are demons in disguise

Let the tar scald those lungs,
forget the reasons you no longer wish to breathe
even after you die anguish rests in my marrow
--
and the guilt just sits between my teeth
 as she uses the flames from the hell she is in
to became a fifth generation smoker