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Ksh 4d
There's a cigarette between my lips.
I taste the flavor, inhale the familiar scent
even before I flick the lighter to life.
There's something to be said about the difference
between the thought of smoking, and actually seeing it through.
I'd be the one to say it, but my mouth is currently preoccupied.

The first inhale is like a breath of fresh air,
which is ironic, given the nature of the vice.
But there it is -- a sweet escape, a brief release from the world that I've been in and decided that I've stayed for one second too long.
A dark, smoky finger invading my senses
as a cat grazes against your leg,
soft, but heavy; intending to make its presence known
with the gentlest touch, the murmurs of a purr.
It fills my lungs, and in a moment of hesitation
I feel peace as though, at any moment,
I could decide that I wouldn't want to breathe again.

The exhale is slow, the puff slowly escaping,
ascending to the heavens, dissipating like
dew on the grass on some mornings,
the fog that covers the skyline.
All that's left is the ghost of what was,
for a fleeting moment, an affair from the reality I've known.

And when the fire dies down
and the **** gets extinguished,
there is only what remains on my lips.
Nicotine, your name, whatever the hell it is --
I just know that it's intoxicating, addicting;
every time I run my tongue over chapped skin,
it's as if I'm chasing the very last time I've ever tasted you;
And every swig at the cold, hard rim of a bottle
makes me think of sloppy kisses on a cold winter night,
hands fumbling, nervous giggling;
of promises pieced together through incoherent moans breathed onto flushed skin;
Of empty sheets and ***** clothes,
no phone numbers to call, no names to tattoo,
nothing that can tie me to the possibility of a 'next time';
"Because there won't be a 'next time';
there can be no 'next times'."
But I guess --
I chose the wrong day to quit.

The cycle repeats, the toxicity stays,
and yet I revel in the concept of
not thinking, not planning,
just -- being.
In that moment, under the stars:
As if Time had stopped, and the sky was alight,
and I felt like I had the whole world
fit in the palms of my hands.

Because for someone that tastes so, so wrong,
you feel so, so right.
Dans le flot libre des mots
On voit parfois gazouiller
Entre les failles Corindon,
Hydre-Muse au sang impétueux
D'impur taureau
Mêlé à celui imparfait du pigeon,
Chanter les défauts, les venins
Et les vices de la gemme :
Les vicissitudes du poème de rubis.
Sam H Sep 8
one hit
is all i need
i succumb
to the glitter
and gold,
an unparalleled
soothing delight

a cool, light
and liberating
touch
i let go
of meaningless
thoughts
and begin my
psychedelic flight
Make way for the bees.
There's too much to say.
Love once and forever.
Bleed out the day.

More happy than sense.
The future divide.
Between a man and his friends.
For him and his bride.

Low cost, low manage.
And family safe.
Party and make merry.
For our new home today.

Couples of fame.
Lovers of vice.
Homes that were broken, parents that fight.

But no bad ending and no fallout.
No lovers spat, no bad flake out.
It could be true love or it could not be.
But I've been left here for an eternity.

And so, she pervades and steals my friends.
And my disgust to her attends.
Blame me, or their crossed stars above.
But I blame the forgetful feeling known as love.
Not too bad. Not too BAD. Another rhymy one. if you like it, cool. If not, well sorry it isn't better.
Lewis Irwin Jun 5
As she lays down in a state of bliss,
It's only after the reality hits.
She's harbouring life inside where her demons resides,
She can't afford but she won't abort; she will save a life.

What is life if happiness isn't part of the equation?
How do we validate and justify our questions and frustrations.
Is allowing life saving life? Because in happiness life resides,
She can't afford but she won't abort; she will save a life.

She's now a Mother of some standard,
Equivocally she tries and **** those demons inside her.
Her daughter finds no joy in the mother who's smile lays no happiness,
Her laugh croaked with the remanence of a pied piper.
With no food or knowledge to consume she will surely be laid to doom,
Because her Mother died as the demon who consumed her wore her skin like a prize.

Giving life isn't saving life,
Because happiness is where life resides.
Lot May 17
Smoke dances around me,
clouding the room in a mystic breath,
it hangs from my lips like the veil that sits upon a bride’s jewelled head,
it flows through the air with nimble grace only to vanish into space,
ascending to the heavens where I can never reach,
it’s only lasting trace sits heavily beneath my teeth,
a sweet but acrid kiss that escapes in breathless fear,
rotting flowers fill my lungs with their dying drear,
constricting my voice with lasting vice,
till I’m choking up petals of addictive bliss.
Late night thoughts...
Justus May 13
The continued repression
      of the id's desired pleasure
Will lead to the death
      of some poor *******
Justus May 13
Boredom is the number one adversary
for a man's well-being
Even before the alcohol
                             coke
                             heron
                             ******
                             ******
                             gambling
                             and good women
The Morning Star only challenged god
because Heaven was uneventful
He was well ahead of his time
A perfect world can only exist when
there's an opposing force
Even the mice know that
I will likely die by 25
A slave to my vice.

But at least I will go
At the foot of the throne
Where I learned
What it means
To worship.
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