I wish you'd develop and addiction to me
in the same way you're addicted
to your menthols.

I need you like a bad habit.
Like, biting my nails,
Or, telling far-fetched tales.  
I make sad attempts to stop but,
I can’t stop biting,
My fingers are bleeding.
I can’t stop lying,
What is this animal I’m breeding?
I can’t seem to quit,
You’re all I think about.
Trying to stop is like
Not craving rain,
In the middle of a drought.

Intangible facets of chaste delicacy
dance under the curtains in poised stability;
shattered, self-battered, strengthened it may,
those fine lines, those fissures, his cigarettes portray.

Came from the poor
Became an addict
Always working
To support my habit
Never stole
Very young
I moved one day
2000 miles away
I didn't have a clue
What to do or who to be
I made it big
And owned companies
My habbit found me
Was a function addict
Had many good friends
Always giving
Always caring
I went to prison
To get rid of my habit
I started writing
5 times a day
It was about my feelings
And the life that I had
I'm now away
From that style of life
I still have my companies
And I now have god
I help with the teens
I give to the poor
I teach drug awareness
I manage rap groups
And I'm always caring
I give nothing but love
To people I don't know
I would change my life
For nothing in this world

Two ******* in my face
Flat, perky, soft--don't matter
Hide myself in ***

The absurdity
is in the conclusion,
                                   but it's also
                                          the cliff
                  from which I jumped
From Chaos,
                      To Chaos.
                                             All that is left
                              is a futile attempt to understand
                                       the silly habit of living:
    *A constant battle between
Order          and          Disorder

"you should eat", said they
"i can't," said i, "i just can't."
irregularly