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None of it was for you
    It's for myself
My own pleasure

    Cherished what I had
But like I said
     None of it was for you

Every puff and each rolls
    They ain't for you
Never was for you

     Dancing in the rain
Synchronized the pain
      It was my choice
Danial John Jul 2018
My friend burns slow
I put her to my lips and draw
then exhale smoke
The tar stains my teeth and lungs.
I enjoy her presence because she makes me feel young.
Cat Fiske Jun 2018
I used to buy over priced Cigarettes,
To mask my pain and regrets.
I'd pack them on the dashboard of my car,
Like a man who beats a women until his hands scar.
I'd open my pack,
before my withdrawals would attack.
Rip off the plastic and remove the foil,
Carefully like you'd place a crown on someone royal,
Pull out the first cigarette by the filtered tip,
I made sure not to forget to flip,
As I put the cigarette back,
I pull out another by the filter from my pack.
Hayley Rena Dec 2017
I often wish I was the cigarette you used
on cold nights to calm you down
and forget the pain you had.
Lies sometimes come in nicotine laced toxic.
I wonder if you see how every lie you tell
is you committing suicide
right in front of me;
killing everything I see in you.
Craving the voice that suffocates me,
these nicotine laced lies.
You being addicted to drugs,
and I to you.
Addicted to the taste your words leave in my mouth.
There is supposed to be a difference between love and nicotine.
I often wish I was that cigarette.
Only then would you be letting me in.
So breathe me.
Written// Oct. 18, 2017 11:03am
helena alexis Sep 2017
he took a drag
of his cigarette
inhaling the truth
exhaling the lies
smoking the answers
she wanted to hear
J Sep 2016
Crimson winds in Early September
blew my own smoke back into my face
so I got a double dose of ashes, burning my surfaces
I stopped digging into my skin with metal
but filled my lungs with tar
and I can't tell what's worse
Forgetting to take in sherbert skies because
I'm too high
or being there but not caring in the first place
Cat Fiske Jan 2016
I walked with my communist looking blanket tied around my neck,
I had long ago stolen them from an airoplane and like then,
they still did everything you wouldn't expect from a thin blanket.

getting prung and pricked as the buckberry bushes punctured,
me and my communist looking blanket, but atlass I made it,
torn by thorns and all, to the half iced over ****** dam,


this is where I was greeted not by my friends, as they happened to be there,
No, I was greeted warmly by the fire they made,
as they burned detention slips, and failed tests, and anything alike,

it made me take fire 101 control of things, as I spit out,
you can not put wet leaves in this fire, stay ten feet away from the fire,
but it would soon be done,

when it was, we broke up some of the remaining ice from the dam,
placing it on top of the fire as gracefully as you could,
my fingers were once so warmed by that fire, now so cold from the ice,

we went and sat on the rock, and I wrapped my communist blanket around me,
I went into my bag, and pulled out my sock that had my bogs inside it,
I never like to smoke with people, I never really smoked more then two drags

when I needed to let my edge off, I smoked, and it was a rare thing I did,
under my communist blanket, with ice cold hands I unwrapped my sock,
I pulled out my new pack of spirits and my lighter, and offered anyone with me a bog.

Everyone but one of my friends took me up on it, so I told him,
he can have the rest of what I don't smoke, I only smoke two hits,
I put the bog in between my ******* and my ring finger on my right hand,

I couldn't lite it with the wind, I said,
but, it's because people were there.
He lit my bog for me, I smoked more then I normally do and handed it off,

What was to come soon after was what one,
wishes they could escape to there bedroom with their communist blanket,
and then cry,

he finished what he wanted on the bog,
leaving me with a little more then half,
I put it out and put it away,

my other two friends pulled out a bog each of their own,
as I began to pick up all the little pieces of paper that didn't burn,
I threw them with my ice cold hands into the dam,

by then they were almost done with there bogs, when one asked me,
"Can I try to burn your arm?"
as she stuck her bog in her mouth before I could respond,

she went into my communist red blanket, and pulled my arm out,
hold my arm with one hand, she took the bog in the other pressing it lightly,
She asked me "does it hurt?" I muttered "no" still shocked,

She went and did it again, this time higher up while twisting it in,
next to a set of new burns I had done myself a few night back,
I didn't even feel what she did, but she went through a layer of skin,

her and the other girl, proceeded to try to lightly burn themselves,
a half a second touch on the top of the arm, that's what hurt more.
I looked at my friend, and he looked really confused, I was too.

I went into the iced over pond, and pulled out ice,
trying to get the ash out of my arm,
only causing my fingers to freeze more under my communist blanket,

*I was unable to continue watching them play around and burn their flesh,
I walked back up, and said I need to be alone,
and I never made myself feel more alone under my communist blanket.

I know it was my fault, for I had let her do it,
I didn't dare say stop, but then they did it to themselves.
why couldn't me of been enough?
bogs where I am from are cigs. if you didn't know.
Cat Fiske May 2015
I want to take breaths,
so peaceful,
a single feather,
will float up and down from my lips,
and silence will be as common as oxygen,
and you will only hear me inhale,
and exhale,

like it was when I took my first drag,
I took it,
as a loud world went quiet,
and all focus went on your hand,
you forgot about the simple things,
simple things that really where so uncontrolled,
you just forgot,

and with a clear head,
you take the most peaceful breaths,
as your smoke,
acts as a feather,
and floats,
What it felt like the first time I smoked.
aurora Oct 2014
the smooth yet sharp mint
of the menthol between my lips
will never give me the satisfaction
that you could
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