temper unreliable as the midwest weather nights spent talking to the trees certain as the dirt on your father’s grave and god is his dampened smile when he tells you he doesn’t trim his eyebrows anymore because you told him you liked them wild how many enigmas can dance on the end of your cigarette before sunrise
When you get older Plainer Saner Wil you remember All the things You lost on us It hurts me More than you'll ever know Wish i could go back To the days i was lost on you Night full of stars Adrenaline rushes The bittersweet taste of your lips A cold gust of wind outside Cigarette smoke around our faces Eyes light and glister Wrapped up blankets Two glasses of malt whiskey A fire in the burning in the hearth And in us A comforting arm A comforting smile It was good But perfect can never stay They pushed me, And you away You came back So please come in And help me remember When you were lost on me If I let myself Love you
Our coughing laughs seem endless, though we know our ends are near. A puff or two off the cigar under muffled breaths. A smoke-filled room and memories afloat. Old times and old pals reunited with these puffs. Memories from long ago when times were simple and life was vibrant. Now it seems as if we’ve completely forgotten what it felt to be young. Young and smoking a meaningless cigarette. Older and breathing in a cigar, like it’s the last one we’ll ever have. Time truly changes us.
Cigarette in hand he asks me for a light I strike a match, watch Smokey fingers dance The air is thick tonight Pregnant shadows huddle In corners, waiting Silver moon watches me from A puddle at my feet I jump aside toward the lamp Heavy the night that falls from me as I Slip into the light He splashes through the water, Humming, Smokey fingers trailing behind.
Who cares about the ***** laundry, the coffee stained sheets, the flowers wilting on the table, when so many homes are scrubbed clean and sanitized of everything including life.
Let me undress you in this mess, and in the time it takes to do the dishes, we will have gone to Paris and back, making love smoking cigarettes and laughing at the world, and how nothing matters but us.
I feel a burning in my chest as I inhale the carbon monoxide Romanticizing smoking is ******* overdone But I'm guilty of it So I'm quitting Monday I have 4 cigarettes to get me through tomorrow and then I'm done Or, at least I hope I'm done
I'm gonna quit smoking and switch to vaping, but I feel that vaping has no place in poetry lol
Motionless I sit as the seasons change. Inside behind my workspace I spend hours on end. Until the days dissipate into ashes Like the cigarette that rests in the seam of my fingers. Inhaling I exhaust the fuel that burns my lungs. Charred from my addiction. I sit and I wait for The Clock to hit seven.