"cigarrette" poems
I cut my hair,
the tips that you liked curlying around your fingers while you sang are now gone.
I painted it with sunshine rays,
To surround me with all the light I've been needing since the last time I got blinded by yours.
And that flock of hair that was shorter from that time I accidentally burned it trying to light you a cigarrette, the one that made me smile with its stubborness to stay still, the one that reminded me of our first night, it has growned.
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 9:28 PM UTC
I wanna smoke a cigarrette with Obama
We’ll lower the sound on Futurama
He will hand me a pack of Marlboro or Newport
He will puff I will puff
Life will be like a resort
We will talk about politics and in vain
Puff again puff again puff again puff again
We would smoke and we would quit
He will swear again
For six years ”no cigarrettes lit”
I will quit smoking too
We will play peekaboo
And turn the volume back up on Futurama
I will boast to my friends
I quit smoking again with Obama
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 9:27 AM UTC
and here we are again
on this page of a book called dreams.
as the moon & the city becomes our lightbulb
and the end of your cigarrette burning
like how time burns when we're together.
on our blood are paint produced by love
and we color these streets with the color of romance.
in that moment we understood
why people call life a jigsaw puzzle
because everything is falling into pieces
and here forms the picture we were always trying to build.
we understood why painters
mix different hues of a color to create a new hue of that color
because a hue that's a little bit different
wouldn't fit into this painting we call "right now."
the words and the world molds into one
and turning the page doesn't make sense.
but we cant help but roll the thought
of a burned out cigarrette being thrown to the ground
once it no longer gives warmth & light.
we cant help but lose the passion
and we'll brush a lighter shade of color
because something is missing & we cant seem to find it.
slowly by slowly puzzle pieces will be misplaced
and we wont understand this picture anymore.
one day, we'll push each other away
unbeknownst to you and me
then we'll be similar poles of a magnet
which will drift apart from each other.
i will be pained
and although i'll wish you'll miss me
but i hate seeing you hurt
so i'll just hurt myself with the mere thought that your mouth wont form my name again
and every memory of us that you'll remember
you'll wish to forget
while i am here holding on to every bit of you that i can grasp.
so whenever someone tells you they wont hurt you
or you'll say your love is greater than your intention of pain,
remember that your heart is a muscle the size of your fist.
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 1:52 AM UTC
effortlessly wearing a cigarrette on her lips
head tilted high with one hand on her hips
a dizzyingly incandescent, nicotine laugh
i think i'd die for her
write that on my epitaph
Jan 7, 2021
Jan 7, 2021 at 1:28 AM UTC
Smoke rolls off your lips
As raindrops drip
Off the roof, above where you sit
Barely missing the lit end
Of your cigarrette
And ill make you a bet
By the end of this night
None of this will mean ****
Youll be to drunk to remember it
Youll run down back alleys
With girls you jusy met from cali
Away from cops tryna tally
You up as an arrest
Rally the rest
Into a **** sesh like youre towlie
Find all your friends have left
Have to hitch-hike back to campus
A drunken high mess
But when the next test comes
Youll drink away your stress
Head to the closest party
Spend all your money on drugs, not rent
But when that doesnt help you vent
Climb into bed with that hottie you just met
Yeah *****
This is college
After this were all set... right?
Or should we think bout whats next? ... G'night
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
mismanaged prostitution
barbed wire kisses
telephone breathing
hands on white thighs
digging fingers
hardened
crows feet
crones cry
another drink
something hard to drown a sorrow
to **** a cigarrette in
lick my lips
taste my revulsion..
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 2:26 AM UTC
Do you taste it?
The ease and cool mystification she gives you…
The addiction like a passionate revival
Do you feel it
The gratification she grants
BAM you’re baked like a cake
Her lips like a love potion
Her hips like LSD and you’re riding the cool waves of Janis Joplin
Do you need it?
That midnight body on you like I did
Those ********* hands, that ********* tenderness
Do you **** it?
Like there is no tomorrow, do you make that body quease under you?
Little do you know she’s toxic, like a cigarette between your teeth
Swallowing the forsaken **** up that is your whole being
She is like a tear rolling down your cheek, exposing you.
You’re in deep and in love with a *******
Cigarette
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 3:19 PM UTC
Buds bursting, coloured pale
Birds tending twigs to nests
Lambs fall about and flail
Farmers try to look their best
Market time has come again
The people weave and wind
Stuffed stalls and scrbbling pen
Church bells start to chime
Children hold their parents' hands
Puppies start to whine
Instinct says to lope the land
But only if tis thine
Steaming pits of people coil
Grey morning sunlight
Puddles iridescent with oil
Blasted seagulls fight.
The rain will come, human fingers
Will grasp at crisp packets
Cigarrette but stench lingers
Still the seagus make a racket.
For love they sell pretty flowers
For death condolence cards
The merchant will use his powers
Decorum lies in splintered shards.
So feast and sneeze as seasons
Change and placate your winter
Hunger, swallow reasons
Lest in your palm they splinter.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 6:16 PM UTC
They say cigarrette & alcohol are something which humanity has innovated,
Intelligent - huh?
Every breath I breathe
Is often full of offensive smoke,
Or the ****** stench of *****
Humanity - yes - humanity has let itself be so prone to addictions,
They love to smoke - have ***** in their backyards,
And to have wilder editions of what used to make them human,
What differentiated them from other wild animals.
So evenly widespread is this diluted evil,
That I myself feel so tempted to try them once,
But I control myself knowing that trying once would get me addicted,
Once and just once more - Once and just once more!
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 1:11 PM UTC
My guilty pleasure is not a piece of chocolate after a long day, or bumming a cigarrette off of a stranger. Rather, I guiltily find pleasure in imagining how much better you taste on my lips than those trivial pleasures. The sheer thought of your lips on me makes me guilty with an undying want for the pleasure of your lips.
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 2:13 PM UTC
oh cigarrette i love you so
out of my mouth the smoke i blow
i love when you get that red glow
instead of shrinking i wish you would grow
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 8:43 PM UTC
he was standing on the curb
a bearded man with a wool cardigan
a striped one, made for the winter
by strange hands and thrown away for him
to find it between pizza boxes in an alley.
now I know he was a beggar, but
at that time, when I was four,
he looked like a funny old man;
he blew the smoke from his cigarrette in the night air
and he glanced at me
as my family got inside the ice cream shop -
where the ice cream people are, you know.
I had fruit salad in a goblet
and laughed at my father's silly panama hat
and imagined what I'd be when I grew old.
my mother offered me her hand and we went to the car;
I kneeled in the backseat, staring through the rear view window
I saw the alluring lights of the city
and the leather-dressed people standing in front of bars
and the funny old man lying in a pool of tomato juice
in the same curb I saw him just before;
my sister yelled something I don't remember
and started crying as my father called the police.
I sat on the backseat covering my eyes with my hands
and hoped that those deafening sounds would stop
and felt so awkward and so thoughtful
for not understanding that completely.
today, I think about the funny old man
dressed in striped clothes lying in that curb
and realise that that was not tomato juice,
but the key to the understanding of my mind,
the only thing that could make a four-yeard-old kid
wonder about the death, simple as it is,
and about the things that made someone
stick a knife in a beggar's belly.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 4:34 PM UTC
can I be your cigarette
so you can pull me out
of a black dark box
so you can light me up
when I’m cold
so you can keep me on
your lips
so you can inhale me
even though you know
how toxic I am
but you don’t really care
cause you love that feeling
in your lungs
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 4:52 PM UTC
AT 20,000 FEET
such as it
reciprocates
our biological rights demands.
our genetic material reciprocate magnetism.and your seat cushion may be used as a flotation device
how couldn't i?
at 20,000 feet
drunk as ****
clinging to a chair,
clinging to each other,
clinging to the air,
this plane is quite obviously crashing,
but betwixt flames,
and screams,
shouts
of the crew
as we
all know
we
are
to
die, through
the shouts of all this
through every waking moment
through the snow
and the rain
through death
through pain
and ****
i would climb through sewers
i would swim through a lake of radiation
i would overturn every stone in chernobyl
and never
would i find.
ten whiskeys deep
and i think
"oh ****
what am i getting myself into?"
and then
"really,
i don't even give a ****
and then
"christ,
i need a cigarrette"
and then,
at the end of the day
all that really matters
is whether or not
you
svghjkgtorijhbnjkcvf
Aug 11, 2011
Aug 11, 2011 at 8:15 PM UTC
*tonight
the wailing wind
is my bane
as i look through the pane
of the hard crust of my pain
and wonder how i got to be this way
a homeless drifter on an elite highway
exhaling cigarrette smoke like a chimney
in the numbness of a freezing winter spell
selling a dozen crabby tales for a quarter
to bored yuppies aching for kicks
along the stiff terrain they must negotiate
to reach the peaks i scaled before i fell from grace
the whispering breeze tonight
is my lullaby as i struggle to sleep on my feet
and capture these rare moments of life in heat
on a day when a girl's smile is everything
and a stale slice of bread makes me a gourmet
dining on the rancid cast-aways of a third rate cafe
the twinkling stars tonight
are my peers as we help each other through the night
and a call-of-the wild song keeps playing in my heart;
it says classics are melodies woven in moments of adversity
and that i must continue to hog the fringes of society
and willy-nilly help salve the consciences of those who need someone
to throw the rich crumbs of their excesses at*
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 6:41 PM UTC
I know what I'm worth.
From death to birth, I'll have possessed value for self,
I will not be placed on anyone's shelf to sit and gather dust.
I will not play games,
and I'm not ashamed,
I am not here to be framed and hung on a wall.
I am alive.
Possesed with thoughts like bullets,
My gun is aimed, cocked, and loaded,
Ready to fire at a pin-drop.
I won't be dropped,
like your cigarrette butts,
chucked,
left for the wind to decide my fate.
I am worth more
than a text message
I am more
than small talk
I will not be fooled
when you tell me I am the coolest person you know,
Because you don't know me anymore than the gentleman making your coffee.
Your words mean nothing,
when used in such numerous repetition.
And I'll be ****** if you actually petition
to listen to what I have to say.
I know what I am worth,
and it is strikingly more than what you presume.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 2:59 AM UTC
Your love was like a cigarrette.
It burned brightly and took my breath away
like nicotine I was addicted to it every day.
And the desire burned in me to see you again
but as a cigarrette it was soon over,
never enough, but forever gone.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 10:01 PM UTC
Dear Cigarrette in My Hand,
I love the way you make me feel. All the anxiety the world creates and you, my dear friend, are the only one that makes things better. You are the one I crave, the one I love. My loved ones say you are no good for me, but I laugh them off. They could never understand how I feel when I inhale your sweet poison. The euphoric feeling makes me feel almost sane. Slowly, I know you are killing me, but how can I face the world each day without your kiss? How can I calm myself and clear my head without your great influence? Tell me, my love, why must you **** me when I have shown you nothing but love?
To be honest, the answers to these questions mean nothing to me. There is no way that I could give you up. There is no way I could live without you. I would rather die by your loving embrace than the cold pressure of the world beyond us. I love you, my sweet cigarrette. I love you!
From the One Who Truly Loves You,
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 6:47 PM UTC
only a coffee mark
can be seen in the lower corner
the sides are burnt
from your always lit cigarrette
the words
are vanished
you took them with you
left me with a
scorned
blank paper
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 12:33 PM UTC
He tells me he thinks I should quit smoking.
I tell him I can't because I'm just too dead inside and he agrees,
but doesnt ask for any details
and I don't give them.
I don't tell him that he makes me feel alive,
and if I could make him feel the same, this would be my last cigarrette,
but I know I'll light another one in a couple minutes.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 3:13 PM UTC
The curtains were stained and yellow
like his teeth,
nicotine and despair and food too heavy
his hands tremble as he lights another.
Breath rancid,eyes almost closed
he looks behind him
and sees the pain of a life lived
children lost
once removed.
Hands gnarled with meaningless labor
hold cigarrette to lips pursed
and unforgiving.
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 2:29 AM UTC
I have been trying to stop romanticizing introductions
Attempting to grasp the reality
That not everyone I meet is a potential soulmate
My mind was just born open I guess
Conditioned to want to love at first sight
I am more so addicted to people than I am smoking
I have been trying my hardest
To keep my expectations low
Understand that not everybody has the intention of staying
I have had too many hellos turn into goodbyes
And
Too many hugs turn to leaving
I had been trying
To learn the opposite of welcome
Embrace temporariness with arms as wide as my eaget heart
So when we met
On a directionless sunday
In the living room you were calling home for the week
Know that
It took everything in my power
To not let down my guard
It wasn't until the quiet of the night
That I realized
I had already dropped
Goodnight turned to words to questions
To 3am caress
I was in your arms before I could even stop myself from letting go
But you
Are not the meaningless
One night momentary bliss I am used to
You
Are everything I have tried to avoid
For fear of losing again
I am trying to figure out how it is possible
That you are the kind of thing I'd been attempting to refrain from
Yet exactly what I want at the same time
You are the nicotine from the 5am cigarrette on your last night in town
Your goodbye serving as reminder to everytime I have been let down
But there was more hope in your seven letter goodbye
Than there is in any poem I have ever written
I am saying grace in a language that I still do not fully understand
And although both distance and time
Are two names that usually define ending
I see beginning
I see different
When we kissed
I could taste the promise of future on your lips
My hands spelled out in the creases of your back
Said exactly the same as you did before you left
Said please don't forget me
So please
Don't.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 2:55 AM UTC