After smoking my first pack
Of cigarettes
(Cheyenne Cherries, $2.09 at Marathon)
The novelty wore off pretty quick.
It didn’t feel cool anymore,
Didn’t make me feel important.
The cigarette was just something
To stick between my fingers,
**** between my lips,
Inhale and feel something
(feel Hell)
In my lungs.
A prop.
It was just a stick
With a red, smoldering ****,
A piece of tobacco
To play with before the ember
Ate way down to the filter
And singed my fingertips.

Now, I think I light up
(Cheyenne Cherries, $2.09 at Marathon)
Because the smoke is so
******* enticing. It’s beautiful,
A kinesthetic work of art
(like a ballet),
The way those silver
Tendrils curl so languidly
From the tip into the air,
So graceful, so smooth.
When I smoke
I can’t help but to imagine
I’m watching a group of dancers.
Or something.

And I think I light up
(Cheyenne Cherries, $2.09 at Marathon)
Because there’s nothing better to do
Half the time and at least
It flouts the boredom
(for a few minutes or so),
At least it interrupts the
Relentless monotony of Life.
Kurt Vonnegut mentioned
Something about smoking
Being a noble form of suicide.

Well, so it goes.