I think about smoking sometimes
on dreary days
on quiet nights
when I'm cold
or lonely
or sad
and I just want to inhale the numb
and exhale the ache

but aren't I just inhaling the poison
and exhaling it too?
I take it into myself
and breathe it out into the world

I think about rainy nights sometimes
dark, with the taste of a storm in the air
faded music playing in the background
door half-open
me, leaning over the balcony railing
with death perched between my lips

I think about smoke
spewing from my mouth
carrying all misery away
burning through the walls I can't tear down

I imagine cigarettes
come with leather jackets
sly smiles painted red
and sharp eyes lined black
with a devilish spark in them

They pair so nicely with
the blackest of nights
with bonfires and quiet laughter
and with silent solitude

But then I remember
crooked smiles with yellowed teeth
lungs, withered and black
coughing, gasping for clean air
because they're so infected with smoke
Searing tears,
Rubbing-sore hands,
Pounding drum headache,
Red eyes,
Lips and cheeks inflamed.
The embers burn,
Laying forgotten amongst
Dull gray ashes.
Shimmering smoke
Leaches away tenderness,
And slowly,
Oh so slowly,
Steal my soul as it rises.
Fucking sick of boyfriends who smoke cigarettes. Just done with it.
you asked me not to smoke
i asked you to stay
you wanted someone else
i wanted you
you pressed your lips on someone else
i pressed a cigarette to mine
both forgetting what was expected
smoke in my lungs
cigarette pressed to my lips
memories of you
start to fade away
as I smoke my cigarette
Peace Jun 11
Puff, puff,
the need,
of their cigarette,

The incomplete feeling,
of not having,
the freedom,
each huff,

The tips,
of their fingers,
just for one,

the smoke,
into their,

the filter,
as if it's a lovers,
each line on their lips,
savoring its taste.

Lifting their heads,
slightly high,
as they blow,
the waves,
to the sky.

Thinking deeply,
and releasing,
stressing less,
the craving,
of their addiction,
under control.

The tingles,
within their nerves,

Until the beacon,
of its poison,
calls again.

a servant
I watch all walks of life, inhale the same, smoke.. It accepts all, it's universally, unbiased. As long as you, keep buying.
Jo Barber Jun 12
That first inhale
is like every small joy
wrapped into one neat package,
assembled in a nice, red box
meant just for you.

Flick, flick,
go the ashes,
the end burning brightly
like a firefly on a dim Southern night.

When my lighter blazes
beneath the light drizzle of tonight,
I'm reminded that life
can be so delightfully decadent,
so enchantingly effervescent.

The good times
are made all the sweeter
And the bad times -
the car trouble,
the failures,
and the lost hopes -
lose their edge,
and take on a shape as soft as smoke,
subject to float away with time,
leaving only a sharp smell behind.
Aa Harvey Jun 8

Ashes remind me of the time wished away;
Those lost memories have now faded to grey.
My greatest sorrow is the death of tomorrow.
The bleak outlook is so hollow;
It leaves my tasteless love so immoral.

Your love eats away at my soul like a cancer.
You used to be such a happy dancer;
But then you found love and fell apart like a neutron bomb.
Love left you withered, as soon as your lover was gone.

Decay sets in to eat away at your pride;
You live in the dirt covered stains of a life.
You used to be light, now you’re colourless and dead.
Whatever goes on inside your head?

Bones start to ache and your hair falls to the ground;
You are dying without love, you are falling down.
You crash to the floor like a whore through a door,
To her blood stained bed sheets and a life that has become a war.

(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Desi May 20
Flick the lighter, burn the tip 
Spend another night thinking
Why is it so hard to be alone?
Like nothing can fill me and no one sees me
My eyes fill with smoke as you talk to me
You’re with me as I laugh and when I cry
you tell me you love me
I believe you
There’s fire at one end a fool at the other
You're a cigarette and sometimes I forget
You’re just rolled paper burning me on the other side.
lia jay May 12
One hit,
Two hits,
Three hits, four.
My thoughts begin to walk out the door.
Five hits,
Six hits,
Seven hits, eight.
Suddenly I can think straight.
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