even to hold a piece of a cigarette, people be staring at you like you're a rascal.
even to buy a piece of cigarette, people be staring at you like you're depressed.
even to smoke a piece of cigarette, people be staring at you like you're nothing but an innominate kid.

aside from being given the badge of being privileged well-being, and fulfilled the standard of life, neither smoking could be the best druthers.

therefore, she went undercover, caught a paper, and rolled it into a form of cigarette. the undemanding shape.

she imagined,
she felt,
she wondered,

the great feeling that emerged when one blow smoke escaped out of the stick, thought up all the life's crises gone in a blow.

just a blow.

Hello
I know you are there
Today, your existence
I will share


Hello calm girl
Music lover
Lost in art
Like a river
Blue
but full of treasures

Hello old man
On the side of the window
Screaming in peace
What happened!
I don’t want to die
Please

Hello miss poet
Red hair
Red lips
And a cigarette
Dreaming of what
You’ll never get

Hello crazy man
Smelling walls
Counting hair
Screaming loud
IT’S NOT FAIR

hello everyone used to live in me
Hello to those I’ve killed inside
To live, I pretend I’m a one person
To keep breathing, to myself I lied.

Smoke rises from his lit cigarette,
The air heavy with ash ridden breath.
A lighter flash from across the bar
Left as soon as it came

He leaves a lonely figure
And greets the cold hugging his coat.
Under his feet the snow of past
Has turned to water once again

He hails a passing cab
As his feet mourns the snow

in a moment of                                      
delirium                                                        ­  
your cigar                                      
is glowing
in the dark
as a steady light
gripping                                                        ­   
on my heart
without flame
or blame 

in a moment of                                      
delirium                                                   
I am
breathing
yellow fume
and coughing
in a room
filled with
perplex glow

I stand out here alone in the night,

The sky is almost bright,

Birds tweeting, dogs barking in the distance, leaves dancing in the wind,

And Im smoking a cigarette, that is becoming shorter and shorter.

In front of me, is an old house,

And in that house is a flashy room in which a TV’s playing,

While everyone is long asleep, there is only me and the person in that room awake,

There is a strange  connection between us two now and he will never know.

Suddenly the dogs stopped barking, birds kept on tweeting, the room kept on flashing,

Smoke is rising to the almost bright night sky,

Vaporizing in the dancing leaves,

I’m waiting for something.

Sensing the inevitable loneliness around me in the deep night,

I thank for the moment of silence to heal my spirit from the wounds of yesterday,

The cigarette  is dying,
And so am I.

moonlit streets
and empty promises
falling from
broken bottles
and cigarette smoke

eyes that are
rimmed with
too many
sleepless nights
close

as the lips below
share the smoke
that brought them
here

not caring
who will be blamed
in the morning

My first love was like my first whiff of a cigarette --
Strong. Overwhelming. Suffocating.
(It was a stick of Marlboro Red if anyone's asking)

Was it too much for someone
who's never smoked or loved in their entire life?
Perhaps. Yet, there I was -- willing to fall forward,
into the abyss of the novelty of it all.

And I did.
Fall -- with the click of the lighter.
Falling -- with each inhale.
Fallen -- with each exhale.

It's been days, weeks, months, years.
I've had lighter cigarettes, flavored love,
and I still get overwhelmed and choke
and tear up even at the first whiff.

But I guess, that's where the charm is.
Not with the ashes that fall to my feet,
but the delicate pressure of lips,
the heat it holds hands with.

The beauty lies in going through the motions.