With fingers holding the tail end of a cigarette (or the head end) I wonder how my Daddy feels, when he imagines killing people who are different to him cigarette companies make cigarettes and he generates poison, and ejects it with his words. His poison existed in my blood and in my soul for years Mecca, Baghdad, colour, allah; the person, the religion. I hated them all, with the power that Daddy hates cigarettes and of course the others What gives him the right to hate all of those things, and tell me what I should and shouldn't hate. I lift the cigarette up to my mouth and enjoy the thought of my bubble wrap lungs popping I cough and it's rubbing it in my Daddy's face While you're scheming dropping bombs, and becoming what you hate I'm dying, slowly and laughing at the morbid thought that while your hate won't **** anyone; your crippled manhood. My hate for you is killing me inhale, exhale.