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Phairy Aug 2014
"But he shall never know who I am!" Nicotine said in total desperation to her noxious best friend. "You don't understand, you never felt what I'm feeling!" Nicotine pulled away from her friend and ran downstairs
"You will get caught" Lela shouted trying to talk her sense out of it. "What if you got caught?"
"Then I shall be punished for this love but I refuse to regret trying to have it." She wore a jacket and a baseball cap and took off.


Nicotine wasn't a normal girl, she wasn't like Lela or girls in her age. In fact, she wasn't like anyone ever.
She was very brave and creative, dreamy but she makes it happen. She doesn't care what people might think and she doesn't like rules. She grow up with merother and both brothers, her dad died with surgery complex of  adjustable gastric band when she was 13; and he told her before he took the breath of his death "don't ever change, don't be like me. Change them without trying. Just be you, they'll follow! And never chase love, love will find you." And she never lived by any rules except for those.
She was the youngest among her brothers yet she was the strongest emotionally, physically and the brightest mentally. Nicotine never understood why the world decided to be a man's world when she is a woman and better than a lot of men!

Nicotine was a strange girl that wouldn't let anything stop her. And nothing stopped her indeed.
Until this one time...

She was 17 years old when she met a boy. Travis was his name, Travis has traveled from his school to hers and they met in English class. The only seat available was next to her so he sat there. For three seconds, there eyes met and Nicotine never been that much hooked. She was straight forward and hate the games. So by the end of the day she asked Travis out.
"Sorry, I don't tend to be rude but my sister died few months back and I don't feel like being around girls."
Nicotine flustered when this time, she didn't know how to get what she wants. She smiled and waved goodbye.
She wouldn't lose hope and she was determined to be Travis best friend! But Travis never showed on the second day of school or the third. Travis never showed up again as if he disappeared with fresh air up the mountains where people lose their way back in the forest.

Years went by but Nicotine never had forgot his details...

The way his long brown darkish hair flew unlike mainstream. Dark skin tone with black wide eyes. Even though Nicotine was 5,9 feet considered tall, Travis was almost 6,4 or something.
There have been nights when she dreamt of him hugging her tight telling her "wait, don't leave. I'm coming" or the times when she sees him everywhere and never been able to love anyone as half as the love she feels for Travis. Some nights she thought, maybe... Just maybe I love him too much because he is the one who left not the other way around! But most nights, she dreamt about way long French kiss.

One day she was walking down the streets on her way back from college. She is a senior now and a vergin.
Nicotine was in her usual bubble listening to her IPod music when she saw him again.
She wasn't sure at first. His hair was shorter and she didn't recognize the smile. But those eyes and the skin tone. **** it, she can't let him slip again.
"Yo, Trav" some whiteish guy across the road yelled to him.
Trav? Trav? He said Trav? What's the short name goes for????¿¿¿!!!¡
"For the million times dude, its Travis. Never call me Trav" Travis flicked the white guy forehead. "Whatever, u going to Delphic tonight?"
"Yep, best arcade ever!"
Nicotine stood still for awhile, losing her ability to control her lungs. Shortens in oxygen. Her mouth was all rusty and words too little. Suddenly she started running home as fast as she could. Called her best friend and told her about her plan.

That's when Lela started to be noxious.

"Okay okay, hold on" rising her hands up to shush me "you are going to the Delphic arcade across the city tonight to stalk a guy you have been in love with-one sided- for years faking that you are a guy?" She paused. "That's so normal, nothing weird about this." Laughed sarcastically
"You don't need to understand" said Nicotine.
It almost felt as it she's mourning "why are you doing this please I need to understand?"
Nicotine was racing the clock trying to get ready to be the coolest guy. Wig of short hair? Done. Thick eyebrows? Done. Guys shirt? Done. Jeans? Done. ******* corset? Done. She was very sure he is the one. "I don't know how to explain all the feelings I have for this guy. But one time I was a girl and he turned me down because his sister died months ago and then disappeared! Look at me, Lela! Do I look like a girl to say no to?"
"All this trouble for a revenge?"
"Of course not, its a give in to my heart"


Nicotine arrived at 9 pm sharp. She doesn't know is Travis here already or not but she doesn't waste time and she starts looking for him. By a pinball machine Travis stood next to his friends and the white guy she saw earlier. She knew no time should be anymore wasted.

"Excuse me?" Said nicotine in loud, stiff and sharp voice
All the guys turned around of the pinball looked at her. Except they weren't looking at a girl but a handsome guy.
"I've lost my phone and I think my friends left, can I use one of you cell phone?"
"Sure" Travis said first. Pulled his cell out of his ripped jeans pocket and handed to me.
"Thanks, won't take long"
Nicotine pulled herself aside and started pretending that she is talking on the phone by calling her cellphone voice mail. Next step, spend some quality time with Travis!!
"*******, *******!!!" Nicotine shouted through the phone and close the line dramatically groaning.
"U ok?" Travis grabbed nicotine by the shoulder.
"Yeah." Nicotine paused "I need a ride home"
"I can give you one if you like." Travis blushed. "Do you need to leave now?"
"No, I can stay for a while more.... I'm nicotine" we shook hands
"Travis... Don't ever call me Trav. Nicotine as THE NICOTINE?"
"my dad was big fan of the 70's rock bands, I happen to be a sin" Nicotine leaned closer while still grabbing his hand then she whispered "btw Trav, I never play by the rules"

Travis stood there, studying Nicotines face like a map dotting every detail as if he planning to get an A+ on geography. "You're... Different" Travis murmured.
Nicotine grinned.

They've spend days and days having fun going out for ice cream or movies. Concerts and jams. Late night phone calls and early breakfast making. They never talked a out girls which was odd to nicotine but she was relifed Travis didn't like any girls around.


They were on a hill laying down gazing at the stars in the middle of an afternoon sun. It was one the weird games they played that nobody understood.
"Listen" Travis said "I need to tell you something"
Nicotines heart pounded "listening but whisper"
Travis took a moment before he spoke again. "I'm gay." Travis sounded edgy. "I'm gay for you... Don't bail on me I love you,
nicotine. Kiss me"

In a matter of a second nicotine lost all hope for words all hope for love and all hope to forget this love that now has been so close to be reached. She got up and ran away. But this time not home. She ran to the cemetery where her dad laid...

She was caught up between telling him the truth or go get a transgender surgery. But she was afraid if she told the truth, he could never love her like he loved nicotine the guy. If she told the truth, he could not forgive her for the lie she told. She lived. Nicotine was torn in front of her dads grave and wanted for angel of death to come and take her soul. Just for a day or two. Just for a while, until Travis forgets. Until she forgets. Before this, ever have been done by her.

"Why are you crying?" A voice shifted nicotine's mind from lost to found. "What are you doing here? How did you find me" she said.
"You told me, that's where you go when things go wrong." Travis tenderly spoke, sat next to me. "Have they gone wrong?" He said.

Nicotine was trying to control her sobb "yes." Wiping her tears with her arm "I didn't mean to go so far"
Travis stared and stared and looked at nictone in a way she couldn't read his face. "There is something I should tell you" nicotine whispered frighteni for the first time in her life since her father died. "Speak" Travis whispered while his forehead clicked to mine.
Nicotine froze as soon as she felt his skin on hers. She closed her eyes not wanting to look at the disappointment in his eyes. The frown on his face. She couldn't focus when she had his breath on her face. She didn't know how to begin, she didn't know how to open her rusted mouth. "I..." Travis pulled nicotine closer placing both of his hands on the sides of her head and kissed her. Kissed her like he never seen lips before. "I know." Travis said.
"What?"
"I'm 25 years old, don't you think I'd know a girl when I see one? Specially a girl I wanted to kiss the day I met and thought I've lost for good"
Nicotine crocked a smile and rushed to his rough lips. Biting the lower lip as if she never kissed a guy before. It wasn't just lust or the need for ****** *******. It was craving to touch a skin you adored. It was listening to your favorite song alone in the dark. It was comfort that made love.
Travis slowly pulled her away "why did you fake to be a guy?"
"I was afraid to lose you again if I was a girl if you had a lover." Embarrassed nicotine spoke her words. "I'm sorry, I love you. Don't leave."
"You're nicotine... And I'm heavy smoker seeks death if it means to die by your love"

And that's how Romeo and Juliet died of lung cancer. Just kidding. They died with poison
Frank Nov 2018
Nicotine for breakfast
It washes down the pills

Nicotine for lunch
It washes down the energy drink

Nicotine for Dinner
It washes down the alcohol

Nicotine for when I'm sad
It keeps the feelings from bursting out

Nicotine for when I'm happy
Or so I assume

Nicotine for when I'm alone
And I'm always alone


Nicotine when I can't bear it anymore
AJ Dec 2014
His nicotine tongue was the most conniving part of his existence.
Every time it made contact with mine,
I tasted Marlboros,
the only brand he would buy.
Whatever his nicotine tongue
did to mine sent me into
a tornado of insanity each time,
like I was one of his cigarettes,
but he put me out,
stepped on me,
before I could burn his lips.
His nicotine tongue told his mouth
to speak such brutal words
that would make me
fall in love with him
over and over,
lighting me up and up,.
He had never kept me lit,
put me out before I could
trick him into thinking
"love"
could be a hole
he could also fall in.
He had carried me
around in his pocket,
his nicotine tongue
telling him to fuel his craving
and pull me out,
wrapping his mouth
around me and breathing me in
until I was no more.
But the more he
breathed me in,
the more his
nicotine tongue
started to die.
I was toxic.
He never did fall in love with me,
but I did end up
being the one to
stomp
him
out.
two toxics can never mix
Andre patterson Aug 2015
Once he gets a taste of these nicotine lips so high he is going to fly

like back when I used to crack up and shoot up and get so ******* high,

now that I have nicotine I can get on by

he said this habit of mine he foreseen that this nicotine is killing me inside,

why waste his time when I am committing
suicide

So I replied to justify these nicotine lips
we are in a interrelationship,

you "know the way in which two things affect each other because they are related in some type of way"

like how I foreseen him praying for love but yet to concerned about all my imperfections,

He better get real and kiss these nicotine lips before he loses all my affection.

I'm not here to testify his habits just as long as he's flying high after tasting my nicotine lips
Blinded by imperfections
JR Rhine Nov 2015
as i sit
unperturbed it seems
i feel the familiar itch
of the nicotine screen
at the back of my head
in the conscious unseen
i feel the familiar itch
of the nicotine screen
my eyes adrift
in the circuital seas
i crave a quick drag
of the nicotine screen
scratch the itch
wipe the conscience clean
but i'll soon lust again
for the nicotine screen
******* is a vice. Technology may follow suit; one, as the medium, and two, a vice all on its own.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2015
as i said before, the real active ingredient in cigarettes is not nicotine, nicotine is the flavoursome bit, the real active ingredient is carbon monoxide, the thing that spins your head a little on the first cigarette of the day.

oh god my nicotine hangovers
are worse than my alcohol hangovers,
i get this cough when waking
that makes schnitzel from my lungs
on the cough up (you'd think
it was tuberculosis), but recedes
once enough active ingregient in
my addiction is inhaled...
but the odd thing is...
when by odd chance i do get the classical
hangover with a headache...
my nicotine hangover is not apparent,
i don't cough...
and i cure this hangover by not
trying to think, thinking and brain
pain don't work together...
so i lie in bed, sing some *rammstein

and later drink enough coffee
for the caffeine cure of increasing
blood pressure / blood flow;
or the classical hangover could be due
to the fact that i was headbanging to
sepultura's ratamahatta...
   any coin flip is just as good to explain
this scenario.
As I **** this cigarette
my life go's up in smoke,
in clouds of gray and white
some day I'll die of stroke.

If only I would quit
this habit that I have,
my lungs would never rot
all cancerous and scabbed.

And though I know this all,
to my love I still return,
for nicotine I crave for nicotine I yearn.

Take this poem to heart,
and let thy cigarette go,
for dieing of lung cancer
is the slowest death I know.
wanna hear me  reading this?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AdOHXCTrZSk
Awesome Annie Nov 2014
He said he caught himself thinking of my long legs when I was absent.

I froze...Silent and annoyed...

Perhaps he was over confidant when he leaned in and pressed his lips against mine.

I slapped him.

It made me feel cheap so I lit a cigarette. I inhaled deeply watching the smoke swirl... if I could just fade away with it.

Lights to bright and sounds that burst. My head hurts...I flick my ash.

Now he's frozen...just watching me.

Perverts and nicotine have the same stench. Both a bad habit I need to quit.
Sethnicity May 2015
She is My cream nicotine
The
Surging through our blues
The fluidity of divinity
Juxtapose
Whoever said love was easy…

Yeah 'Ol Chap, they Sure had it right,
Because no man or lady can ever Subtract
Once their hue has mixed it can never go back.
2 Whipped Cream and Other Delights.

And why would you?
The dregs are bitter,
The milk too sweet.
If you water it down then
All flavor retreats

Life is just better off Bitter-Sweet,
Cream never asks coffee
On how it should mix
Why do we attempt these liquid alchemy tricks?

The intrusion is dilution of the Makers choice
Through imperfection comes the lesson
Learned perception with each sip

The air red dried truth
The
Words stuck to the lips
Tasters Digest the last drink drips
Yet I question why I am so subject
to infusion
Her meaningful quips
Why we attempt these liquid alchemy tricks?

Still I question why I am so subject
to the infusion of Her
Dips
Sometimes I call it Love
Sometimes I call it Quits
For You My Dear

Let's Cheers Another Grip
of
Seared Buds and Belly Aches
and
Lactose Licorice
So
Pour Another! while the Argument still in Air
and
While Dilutions of gratification Grind into Frothy Despair
Final Stanza redacted for more of a cream and grit flavor: "While
My **** and Meatballs Crow in the Cupboard."
I've been acquainted with the following
psychoactives compounds:

Depressants & Dissociatives;
Ethanol / EtOH / alcohol, drink, *****
γ-Hydroxybutyric acid / GHB / G, fantasy
β-Phenyl-γ-aminobutyric acid / PhGABA / Phenibut
Dextromethorphan / DXM / Benylin, Robitussin
Morphine / Papaver somniferum / *****
3-Methylmorphine / Codeine
Dihydrocodeine / DHC
Buprenorphine / Subutex, Suboxone
N-Allylnoroxymorphone / Naloxone / Suboxone, Narcan
Tramadol / Ultram
O-Desmethyltramadol/ O-DSMT / Omnitram
Thiopental / Sodium Pentothal
Diazepam / ******
2'-Chlorodiazepam / Ro5-3448 / Diclazepam
4'-Chlorodiazepam / Ro5-4864
Chlordiazepoxide / Librium
Gidazepam, hidazepam
Desalkylgidazepam / Bromonordiazepam
N-Desalkylfluarazepam / Norfluarazepam
Flubromazepam
Alprazolam / Xanax
Bromazolam / XLI-268
Clonazolam, Clonitrazolam / Clam
Etizolam / Etilaam, Etizest
Flualprazolam
Flubromazolam
Zopiclone / Zimovane
Pagoclone
Promethazine / Phenergan
Diphenhydramine / DPH / Benadryl, Nytol
Chlorphenamine, chlorpheniramine / CPM / Piriton
Cetirizine / Zyrtec
Amitriptyline / Elavil
Tianeptine / Coaxil, Stablon
Mirtazapine / Remeron
Quetiapine / Seroquel
Nitrous Oxide / N2O / laughing gas
Amyl Nitrite / Poppers
Ketamine [racemic] / K, Kitty
Esketamine [S-isomer] / Special K
Deschloroketamine / 2'-Oxo-PCM / DCK
N-ethyldeschloroketamine / 2'-Oxo-PCE / O-PCE / Eticyclidone
Deoxymethoxetamine / 3-Me-2′-Oxo-PCE / DMXE
Methoxetamine / 3-MeO-2'-Oxo-PCE / MXE / Mexxy
Hydroxetamine / 3-**-2'-Oxo-PCE / HXE / Hexxy
Methoxpropamine / 2-Oxo-3'-MeO-PCPr / MXPr
Methoxisopropamine / 2-Oxo-3'-MeO-PCiPr / MXiPr
3-Hydroxyphencyclidine / 3-**-***
3-Methoxyphencyclidine / 3-MeO-***
3-Methoxyeticyclidine / 3-MeO-PCE
3-Methyleticyclidine / 3-Me-PCE

Stimulants & Enhancers;
1,3,7-Trimethylxanthine / Caffeine / Coffea, Camellia sinensis / Coffee, Tea
3,7-dimethylxanthine / Theobromine / [constituent of] Chocolate
N-Ethyl-L-glutamine / L-Theanine / [constituent of] Green Tea
Nicotine / Nicotiana / Tobacco, cigarettes, smokes
Ephedrine / Ephedra
Pseudoephedrine / Ephedra, Sudafed
Adrenaline, Epinephrine
Choline bitartrate
L-alpha glycerylphosphorylcholine / Alpha-GPC, Choline alfoscerate
Cytidine 5'-diphosphocholine / CDP-choline, Citicoline
N-Acetylcysteine / NAC
2-Dimethylaminoethyl (4-chlorophenoxy)acetate / Meclofenoxate
N-Phenylacetyl-L-prolylglycine ethyl ester / Omberacetam / Noopept
Coluracetam / BCI-540
4-Phenylpiracetam
Propranolol
(±)-2-Benzhydrylsulfinyleth­anehydroxamic acid / Adrafinil
(±)-2-[(Diphenylmethyl)sulfinyl]acetamide / Modafinil
(–)-2-[(R)-(diphenylmethyl)sulfinyl]acetamide / Armodafinil
α-Methylphenethylamine / Amphetamine, αMP / Speed
N-Methylamphetamine / Methamphetamine / ****
Lisdexamfetamine / Vyvanse, Tyvense, Elvanse
2-Fluoromethamphetamine / 2-FMA
3-Fluoroamphetamine / 3-FA /  PAL-353
4-Fluoroamphetamine / 4-FA, 4-FMP /  PAL-303 / Flux
4-Methoxyamphetamine / PMA, 4-MA / Death
5-Methoxy-2-aminoindane / MEAI, 5-MeO-AI / Chaperone, Pace
Methythiolpropamine / MPA / Blow
3-Fluorophenmetrazine / 3-FPM / PAL-593
Methylphenidate / MPH / Ritalin, Concerta
4-Fluoromethylphenidate / 4F-MPH
4-Fluoroethylphenidate / 4F-EPH
3-Methylmethcathinone / 3-MMC / Metaphedrone
3-Methylethcathinone / 3-MEC
4-Methylmethcathinone / 4-MMC / Mephedrone
4-Methylethcathinone / 4-MEC
3-Chloro-N-tert-butyl-cathinone / Bupropion / Wellbutrin, Zyban
4-Chloromethcathinone / 4-CMC / Clephedrone
4-Fluoromethcathinone / 4-FMC / Flephedrone
4-Fluoro-α-methylaminovalerophenone / 4-Fluoropentedrone / 4-FPD
α-Ethylaminocaprophenone / N-Ethylhexedrone / NEH / Hexen
alpha-Pyrrolidinohexiophenone / α-PHP / PV-7
alpha-Pyrrolidinoisohexaphenone / α-PiHP, α-PHiP
3,4-Methylenedioxy-α-pyrrolidinohexiophenone / MDPHP
3,4-Methyl​enedioxy​pentedrone / βk-MBDP / Pentylone
3,4-Methylenedioxymethcathinone / βk-MDMA / MDMC / Methylone
3,4-Methylenedioxymethamphetamine / MDMA / ecstasy
5-(2-methylaminopropyl)benzofuran / 5-MAPB
6-(2-Aminopropyl)benzofuran / 6-APB / Benzofury
6-(2-Aminopropyl)-2,3-dihydrobenzofuran / 6-APDB / 4-desoxy-MDA
Mesembrine / Sceletium tortuosum, Kanna
Harmine / Peganum harmala / Syrian Rue
3,4,8-Trimethoxyphenanthrene-2,5-diol / Dendrobium nobile
NSI-189
4-chloro-N-(2-morpholin-4-ylethyl)benzamide / Moclobemide
Escitalopram / Cipralex, Lexapro
Fluoxetine / Prozac
Sertraline / Zoloft
Venlafaxine / Effexor
5-Hydroxytryptophan / 5-HTP / Oxitryptan

Hallucinogens & Psychedelics;
Cannabidiol / CBD / Cannabis
Cannabigerol / CBG / Cannabis
Δ9-Tetrahydrocannabinol / THC / Cannabis, Marijuana
Hexahydrocannabinol / HHC
AM-2201 / Synth-'noids, Spice
NM-2201 / CBL-2201
5C-AB-PINICA
Salvinorin A  / Salvia Divinorum / Diviner's Sage
d-Lysergic acid amide / d-Lysergamide / LSA / Ergine
Lysergic acid diethylamide / Lysergide / LSD, LAD / Acid, Lucy
Lysergic acid 2,4-dimethylazetidide / LSZ / Diazedine, Lambda, λ
1-Acetyl-lysergic acid diethylamide / 1A-LSD / ALD-52
1-Propionyl-lysergic acid diethylamide / 1P-LSD
1-Cyclopropionyl-N-Methyl-N-isopropyllysergamide / 1cP-MiPLA
6-Allyl-6-nor-lysergic acid diethylamide / AL-LAD / Aladdin
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-methylamphetamine / DOM / Dominic
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-bromoamphetamine / DOB / Aphrodite
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-chloroamphetamine / DOC / Doctor
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-methylthioamphetamine / DOT / Aleph
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-methyl-α-ethylphenethylamine / 4C-D / Ariadne
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-methylphenethylamine / 2C-D, 2C-M / Matrix
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-ethylphenethylamine / 2C-E / Eternity
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-bromophenethylamine / 2C-B / Nexus
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-chlorophenethylamine / 2C-C / Callisto
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-iodophenethylamine / 2C-I / Infinity
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-methylthiophenethylamine / 2C-T / Tesseract
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-ethylthiophenethylamine / 2C-T-2 / Rosy
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-fluoroethylthiophenethylamine / 2C-T-21 / Aurora
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-bromo-β-keto-phenethylamine / βk-2C-B
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-bromo-β-hydroxy-phenethylamine / βOH-2C-B / BOHB
2,3,6,7-Benzo-dihydro-difuran-8-bromo-ethylamine / 2C-B-FLY
2,5-Dimethoxy-N-(2-methoxybenzyl)-4-bromophenethylamine / 25B
2,5-Dimethoxy-N-(2-methoxybenzyl)-4-chlorophenethylamine / 25C
2,5-Dimethoxy-N-(2-methoxybenzyl)-4-iodophenethylamine / 25I
2,5-Dimethoxy-N-(2-hydroxybenzyl)-4-ethylphenethylamine / 25E-NBOH
3,4-Methylenedioxyamphetamine / MDA / Sass, Sally
3,4,5-Trimethoxyphenethylamine / Mescaline / M
3,5-Dimethoxy-4-ethoxyphenethylamine / Escaline
3,5-Dimethoxy-4-methallyloxyphenethylamine / Methallylescaline / MAL
α-Methyltryptamine / αMT / Indopan
N,N-dimethyltryptamine / DMT / The Spirit
N,N-dipropyltryptamine / DPT / The Light
N,N-Diisopropyltryptamine / DiPT / The Sound
N-Methyl-N-ethyltryptamine / MET / The Colour
N-Methyl-N-propyltryptamine / MPT
N-Ethyl-N-propyltryptamine / EPT
N-Methyl-N-isopropyltryptamine / MiPT / The Touch
4-Hydroxy-dimethyltryptamine / 4-**-DMT / Psilocybe / Psilocin
4-Phosphoryloxy-N,N-dimethyltryptamine / 4-PO-DMT / Psilocybin
4-Acetoxy-dimethyltryptamine / 4-AcO-DMT / Psilacetin
4-Hydroxy-N-methyl-N-ethyltryptamine / 4-**-MET / Metocin
4-Acetoxy-N-methyl-N-ethyltryptamine / 4-AcO-MET / Metacetin
4-Acetyloxy-N,N-dipropyltryptamine / 4-AcO-DPT / Pracetin
4-Acetoxy-N-methyl-N-cyclopropyltryptmine / 4-AcO-McPT
4-Acetoxy-N-methyl-N-isopropyltryptamine / 4-AcO-MiPT / Mipracetin
4-Hydroxy-N-methyl-N-isopropyltryptamine / 4-**-MiPT / Miprocin
5-Methoxy-N,N-dimethyltryptamine / 5-MeO-DMT / The God, The Power
5-Methoxy-N-methethyltryptamine / 5-MeO-MET / The Vision
5-Methoxy-N,N-diallyltryptamine / 5-MeO-DALT / Foxtrot
5-Methoxy-N-diisopropyltryptamine / 5-MeO-DiPT / Foxy
5-Methoxy-N-methyl-N-isopropyltryptamine / 5-MeO-MiPT / Moxy
Each of our interior universes differ, their exploration is not a competition.
This list is merely a personal reference for my own psychoactive history.
I have come to disavow psychonautics in favor of phenomenology or philosophy of mind.
Sam Winter May 2013
Strings plucked by cold fingers on cold hands.
The hand-bone's connected to the heart-string....
Sinew rasps against brazen cords, etching orchestral symphonies on the stone in my chest.
Riding the waves of screams, cries, songs...time.
Upon that crest I ride, ever away from that distant shore;
     Ever away from that distant hope.
Ever away.

Caught in the tide of cold spring air.
Cool air sifted through fiberglass filters. Menthol kissing lips, freezing the air across my teeth.
Welcome, Nicotine.
Welcome to my body; lift me on your crest, carry my inhibition.
Invoke your calm upon my weary mind and let me forget I am alone.

Alone? Or...alone...?

Faces will be forgotten.
Sand covers cracks...sand covers much....
Time covers much, but not all.
Who will you remember best? Whom will I never forget? Who won't I have to?
The sand will fill the gaps, but...my house is clean....

Clockwise from the front, right: chap stick, lighter, change; nothing; wallet, gang-ties; pump; phone's in the jacket.
This is my identity, always with me - my companions. But none are company.
None can give what I seek. None, it seems.
Desolation is a feeling. And feelings console.
At least you can be certain of their purpose, at least you know who they are.

Who are you?
How will I know?
When will I see that wry smile and be certain of it?
Give me that stone heart, that I may etch my symphony upon it.
Let my sinew warm those brazen strings.
Ride upon my crest.
Be my Nicotine, my sand...my certainty.
Sofia Von Jul 2014
Summer heat summer sweet
With a wealthy nature, rich pheromones erupt
Birds n tha bees escape the trees
Please don't plant your seeds
But throw the leaves
Up n up
To get down and drop
Where the dirt pops
Ken keseys ashes
Edible umbrellas turn rainy days on their head spinning pupils wide void of discontentment
Fairies fly off clouds and stars fall at day
Impossible, feelings are blown in and out of proportion to fit a screen thats too small
Tough love
Tough life
Slick surface don't let me fall off the boat as it rocks
Swisher wraps over the curves
Got me feelin lucky like a charm
Cheef all day got me smellin dank as a Rastafarian Only stoppin to sip my Captain Morgans moonshine
Till we hit the caribbean
Then Jack's got me headin for tides end
Early
Flush the bile outta your system
And spiral out of controls iron hand
**** responsibility, Apathy rules all.

Paper crane ******* get all superficial but yellow bones make my brain go fuzzy in smokey ***
In n out, fast n slow
Nicotine dominates
My senses are lost at Molly
That ***** finger ****** my life
Made me *** every time
This unhealthy relation in action doesn't phase me yet, I'm too young to think that far
I mean
What do you expect?
A Teens crowded perceptions can be judged like a bums intentions.
Peace my brotha
Dandy danny says theres a way out
-side with the rap culture
Shots of rebellion pour through the cracks we each fill
The glass
Is too cracked to be see-through

West coast vibes kick back lax attitude I carry on my shoulders
Forever green is my state
Wash that **** off your lawn crack *** haters I'll spray paint your ***
Equality's the goal
**** race
**** sexuality
I see soul
Open up
Show me your beat
I'll count bars as we spit elicited slurs drizzled to drops leaving the cops to stop us
Quit
Obeyin the brand
Bouazizi’s heavy eyelids parted as the Muezzin recited the final call for the first Adhan of the day.

“As-salatu Khayrun Minan-nawm”
Prayer is better than sleep

Rising from the torment of another restless night, Bouazizi wiped the sleep from his droopy eyes as his feet touched the cold stone floor.

Throughout the frigid night, the devilish jinn did their work, eagerly jabbing away at Bouazizi with pointed sticks, tormenting his troubled conscience with the worry of his nagging indebtedness. All night the face of the man Bouazizi owed money to haunted him. Bouazizi could see the man’s greasy lips and brown teeth jawing away, inches from his face. He imagined chubby caffeine stained fingers reaching toward him to grab some dinars from Bouazizi’s money box.

Bouazizi turned all night like he was sleeping on a board of spikes. His prayers for a restful night again went unanswered. The pall of a blue fatigue would shadow Bouazizi for most of the day.

Bouazizi’s weariness was compounded by a gnawing hunger. By force of habit, he grudgingly opened the food cupboard with the foreknowledge that it was almost bare. Bouazizi’s premonition proved correct as he surveyed a meager handful of chickpeas, some eggs and a few sparse loaves. It was just enough to feed his dependant family; younger brothers and sisters, cousins and a terminally disabled uncle. That left nothing for Bouazizi but a quick jab to his empty gut. He would start this day without breakfast.

Bouazizi made a living as a street vendor. He hustles to survive. Bouazizi’s father died in a construction accident in Libya when he was three. Since the age of 10, Bouazizi had pushed a cart through the streets of Sidi Bouzid; selling fruit at the public market just a few blocks from the home that he has lived in for almost his entire life.

At 27 years of age, Bouazizi has wrestled the beast of deprivation since his birth. To date, he has bravely fought it to a standstill; but day after day the multi-headed hydra of life has snapped at him. He has squarely met the eyes of the beast with fortitude and resolve; but the sharp fangs of a hardscrabble life has sunken deep into Bouazizi’s spleen. The unjust rules of society are powerful claws that slash away at his flesh, bleeding him dry: while the spiked tendrils of poverty wrap Bouazizi’s neck, seeking to strangle him.

Bouazizi is a workingman hero; a skilled warrior in the fight for daily bread. He is accustomed to living a life of scarcity. His daily deliverance is the grace of another day of labor and the blessed wages of subsistence.

Though Allah has blessed this man with fortitude the acuteness of terminal want and the constant struggle to survive has its limits for any man; even for strong champions like Bouazizi.

This morning as Bouazizi washed he peered into a mirror, closely examining new wrinkles on his stubble strewn face. He fingered his deep black curls dashed with growing streaks of gray. He studied them through the gaze of heavy bloodshot eyes. He looked upward as if to implore Allah to salve the bruises of daily life.

Bouazizi braced himself with the splash of a cold water slap to his face. He wiped his cheeks clean with the tail of his shirt. He dipped his toothbrush into a box of baking powder and scoured an aching back molar in need of a root canal. Bouazizi should see a dentist but it is a luxury he cannot afford so he packed an aspirin on top of the infected tooth. The dissolving aspirin invaded his mouth coating his tongue with a bitter effervescence.

Bouazizi liked the taste and was grateful for the expectation of a dulled pain. He smiled into the mirror to check his chipped front tooth while pinching a cigarette **** from an ashtray. The roach had one hit left in it. He lit it with a long hard drag that consumed a good part of the filter. Bouazizi’s first smoke of the day was more filter then tobacco but it shocked his lungs into the coughing flow of another day.

Bouazizi put on his jacket, slipped into his knockoff NB sneakers and reached for a green apple on a nearby table. He took a big bite and began to chew away the pain of his toothache.

Bouazizi stepped into the street to catch the sun rising over the rooftops. He believed that seeing the sunrise was a good omen that augured well for that day’s business. A sunbeam braking over a far distant wall bathed Bouazizi in a golden light and illumined the alley where he parked his cart holding his remaining stock of week old apples. He lifted the handles and backed his cart out into the street being extra mindful of the cracks in the cobblestone road. Bouazizi sprained his ankle a week ago and it was still tender. Bouazizi had to be careful not to aggravate it with a careless step. Having successfully navigated his cart into the road, Bouazizi made a skillful U Turn and headed up the street limping toward the market.

A winter chill gripped Bouazizi prompting him to zip his jacket up to his neck. The zipper pinched his Adam’s Apple and a few droplets of blood stained his green corduroy jacket. Though it was cold, Bouazizi sensed that spring would arrive early this year triggering a replay of a recurring daydream. Bouazizi imagined himself behind the wheel of a new van on his way to the market. Fresh air and sunshine pouring through the open windows with the cargo space overflowing with fresh vegetables and fruits.

It was a lifelong ambition of Bouazizi to own a van. He dreamed of buying a six cylinder Dodge Caravan. It would be painted red and he would call it The Red Flame. The Red Flame would be fast and powerful and sport chrome spinners. The Red Flame would be filled with music from a Blaupunkt sound system with kick *** speakers. Power windows, air conditioning, leather seats, a moonroof and plenty of space in the back for his produce would complete Bouazizi’s ride.

The Red Flame would be the vehicle Bouazizi required to expand his business beyond the market square. Bouazizi would sell his produce out of the back of the van, moving from neighborhood to neighborhood. No longer would he have to wait for customers to come to his stand in the market. Bouazizi would go to his customers. Bouazizi and the Red Flame would be known in all the neighborhoods throughout the district. Bouazizi shook his head and smiled thinking about all the girls who would like to take rides in the Red Flame. Bouazizi and his Red Flame would be a sight to be noticed and a force to be reckoned with.

“EEEEEYOWWW” a Mercedes horn angrily honked; jarring Bouazizi from the reverie of his daydream. A guy whipping around the corner like a silver streak stuck his head out the window blasting with music yelling, “Hey Mnayek, watch where you push that *******.”

The music faded as the Mercedes roared away. “Barra nikk okhtek” Bouazizi yelled, raising his ******* in the direction of the vanished car. “The big guys in the fancy cars think the road belongs to them”, Bouazizi mumbled to himself.

The insult ****** Bouazizi off, but he was accustomed to them and as he limped along pushing his cart he distracted himself with the amusement of the ascending sun chasing the fleeting shadows of the night, sending them scurrying down narrow alleyways.

Bouazizi imaged himself a character from his favorite movie. He was a giant Transformer, chasing the black shadows of evil away from the city into the desert. After battling evil and conquering the bad guys, he would transform himself back into the regular Bouazizi; selling his produce to the people as he patrolled the highways of Tunisia in the Red Flame, the music blasting out the windows, the chrome spinners flashing in the sunlight. Bouazizi would remain vigilant, always ready to transform the Red Flame to fight the evil doers.

The bumps and potholes in the road jostled Bouazizi’s load of apples. A few fell out of the wooden baskets and were rolling around in the open spaces of the cart. Bouazizi didn’t want to risk bruising them. Damaged merchandise can’t be sold so he was careful to secure his goods and arrange his cart to appeal to women customers. He made sure to display his prized electronic scale in the corner of the cart for all to see.

Bouazizi had a reputation as a fair and generous dealer who always gave good value to his customers. Bouazizi was also known for his kindness. He would give apples to hungry children and families who could not pay. Bouazizi knew the pain of hunger and it brought him great satisfaction to be able to alleviate it in others.

As a man who valued fairness, Bouazizi was particularly proud of his electronic scale. Bouazizi was certain the new measuring device assured all customers that Bouazizi sold just and correct portions. The electronic scale was Bouazizi’s shining lamp. He trusted it. He hung it from the corner post of his cart like it was the beacon of a lighthouse guiding shoppers through the treachery of an unscrupulous market. It would attract all customers who valued fairness to the safe harbor of Bouazizi’s cart.

The electronic scale is Bouazizi’s assurance to his customers that the weights and measures of electronic calculation layed beyond any cloud of doubt. It is a fair, impartial and objective arbiter for any dispute.

Bouazizi believed that the fairness of his scale would distinguish his stand from other produce vendors. Though its purchase put Bouazizi into deep debt, the scale was a source of pride for Bouazizi who believed that it would help his profits to increase and help him to achieve his goal of buying the Red Flame.

As Bouazizi pushed his cart toward the market, he mulled his plan over in his mind for the millionth time. He wasn't great in math but he was able to calculate his financial situation with a degree of precision. His estimations triggered worries that his growing debt to money lenders may be difficult to payoff.

Indebtedness pressed down on Bouazizi’s chest like a mounting pile of stones. It was the source of an ever present fear coercing Bouazizi to live in a constant state of anxiety. His business needed to grow for Bouazizi to get a measure of relief and ultimately prosper from all his hard work. Bouazizi was driven by urgency.

The morning roil of the street was coming alive. Bouazizi quickened his step to secure a good location for his cart at the market. Car horns, the spewing diesel from clunking trucks, the flatulent roar of accelerating buses mixed with the laughs and shrieks of children heading to school composed the rising crescendo of the city square.

As he pushed through the market, Bouazizi inhaled the aromatic eddies of roasting coffee floating on the air. It was a pleasantry Bouazizi looked forward to each morning. The delicious wafts of coffee mingling with the crisp aroma of baking bread instigated a growl from Bouazizi’s empty stomach. He needed to get something to eat. After he got money from his first sale he would by a coffee and some fried dough.

Activity in the market was vigorous, punctuated by the usual arguments of petty territorial disputes between vendors. The disagreements were always amicably resolved, burned away in rising billows of roasting meats and vegetables, the exchange of cigarettes and the plumes of tobacco smoke rising as emanations of peace.

Bouazizi skillfully maneuvered his cart through the market commotion. He slid into his usual space between Aaban and Aameen. His good friend Aaban sold candles, incense, oils and sometimes his wife would make cakes to sell. Aameen was the markets most notorious jokester. He sold hardware and just about anything else he could get his hands on.

Aaban was already burning a few sticks of jasmine incense. It helped to attract customers. The aroma defined the immediate space with the pleasant bouquet of a spring garden. Bouazizi liked the smell and appreciated the increased traffic it brought to his apple cart.

“Hey Basboosa#, do you have any cigarettes?“, Aameen asked as he pulled out a lighter. Bouazizi shook the tip of a Kent from an almost empty pack. Aameen grabbed the cigarette with his lips.

“That's three cartons of Kents you owe me, you cheap *******.” Bouazizi answered half jokingly. Aameen mumbled a laugh through a grin tightly gripping the **** as he exhaled smoke from his nose like a fire breathing dragon. Bouazizi also took out a cigarette for himself.

“Aameem, give me a light”, Bouazizi asked.

Aameen tossed him the lighter.

“Keep it Basboosa. I got others.” Aameen smiled as he showed off a newly opened box of disposable lighters to sell on his stand.

“Made in China, Basboosa. They make everything cheap and colorful. I can make some money with these.”

Bouazizi lit his next to last cigarette. He inhaled deeply. The smoke chased away the cool air in Bouazizi’s lungs with a shot of a hot nicotine rush.

“Merci Aameen” Bouazizi answered. He put the lighter into the almost empty cigarette pack and put it into his hip pocket. The lighter would protect his last cigarette from being crushed.

The laughter and shouts of the bazaar, the harangue of radio voices shouting anxious verses of Imam’s exhorting the masses to submit and the piecing ramble of nondescript AM music flinging piercing unintelligible static surrounded Bouazizi and his cart as he waited for his first customers of the day.

Bouazizi sensed a nervous commotion rise along the line of vendors. A crowd of tourists and locals milling about parted as if to avoid a slithering asp making its way through their midst. The hoots of vendors and the cackle of the crowd made its way to Bouazizi’s knowing ear. He knew what was coming. It was nothing more then another shakedown by city officials acting as bagmen for petty municipal bureaucrats. They claim to be checking vendor licences but they’re just making the rounds collecting protection money from the vendors. Pocketing bribes and payoffs is the municipal authorities idea of good government. They are skilled at using the power of their office to extort tribute from the working poor.

Bouazizi made the mistake of making eye contact with Madame Hamdi. As the municipal authority in charge of vendors and taxis Madame Hamdi held sway over the lives of the street vendors. She relished the power she had over the men who make a meager living selling goods in the square; and this morning she was moving through the market like a bloodhound hot on the trail of an escaped convict. Two burly henchmen lead the way before her. Bouazizi knew Madame Hamdi’s hounds were coming for him.

Bouazizi knew he was ******. Having just made a payment to his money lender, Bouazizi had no extra dinars to grease the palm of Madame Hamdi. He grabbed the handle bars of his cart to make an escape; but Madame Hamdi cut him off and got right into into Bouazizi’s face.

“Ah little Basboosa where are you going? she asked with the tone of playful contempt.

“I suppose you still have no license to sell, ah Basboosa?” Madame Hamdi questioned with the air of a soulless inquisitor.

“You know Madame Hamdi, cart vendors do not need a license.” Bouazizi feebly protested, not daring to look into her eyes.

“Basboosa, you know we can overlook your violations with a small fine for your laxity” a dismissive Madame Hamdi offered.

Bouazizi’s sense of guilt would not permit him to lift his eyes. His head remained bowed. Bouazizi stood convicted of being one of the impoverished.

“I have no spare dinars to offer Madame Hamdi, My pockets are empty, full of holes. My money falls into everyone’s palm but my own. I’m sorry Madame Hamdi. I’ll take my cart home”. He lifted the handlebars in an attempt to escape. One of Madame Hamdi’s henchmen stepped in front of his cart while the other pushed Bouazizi away from it.

“Either you pay me a vendor tax for a license or I will confiscate your goods Basboosa”, Madame Hamdi warned as she lifted Bouazizi’s scale off its hook.

“This will be the first to go”, she said grinning as she examined the scale. “We’ll just keep this.”
Like a mother lion protecting a defenseless cub from the snapping jaws of a pack of ravenous hyenas, Bouazizi lunged to retrieve his prized scale from the clutches of Madame Hamdi. Reaching for it, he touched the scale with his fingertips just as Madame Hamdi delivered a vicious slap to Bouazizi’s cheek. It halted him like a thunderbolt from Zeus.

A henchman overturned Bouazizi’s cart, scatter
Three years ago today Muhammad Bouazizi set himself on fire igniting the Jasmine Revolution in Tunisia sparking the Arab Spring Uprisings of 2011.
Levi Franco Mar 2015
You are my own personal brand of nicotine.
You are the everlasting, all consuming craving relief
Of me.
You are the lighter that sparks the fire.
You are my trembling, shaky hands as I devour you.
You are the cracked lonely lips from which I use to inhale you.
Your love's a ******* drug.
But I need it bad.
You're worse than nicotine.
You are my death.
You are my relief.
You are my addiction.
Missy Oct 2014
his eyes trace my figure as my fingers trace his
and when lips meet it proves of radiant bliss
but as soon as pale hearts meets the greeting night
then hips align like stars only to delight
as one we seek places of the highest standing
using directions written on love marked skin
once innocent, now dangerous
no question arises to contradict such action
for strangers eyes lead astray when they hear of our stories
but the novels we write are only locked and hidden
for those strangers would assure to steal them away
elegance and divinity are like those of vintage coffee shops
where broken hearts are mended with love stories, caffeine and nicotine
where our adventures are as priceless as the Mona Lisa
and no soul can buy or touch the love we express
frost-touched lips meet in the seldom disturbed fields
where thoughts gallops freely and laughs carry on caressing breezes
for we out number the night's stars in moments made into memories
and our touch burns hotter than the smoldering sun in the Sahara
desires dig deep as our roots of commitment
while seconds pass  by without your sheer image
for our novels live on, as we tangle around each other
and passion gleams farther in fields with cold breezes
darling, our love is stronger than imaginable
for with you, your more addictive than hot caffeine in the morning
stronger impulse than nicotine in a life-long habit
your love, our love
we are forever infinite
Lauren Leal Sep 2017
Nicotine kisses
And high hope wishes
Doping up on addition
Disguised and good conviction
To lie to the jester
Rests the demons to fester
Nicotine kisses
And high hope wishes
Now we're swimming with the fishes
Caught up in old lines
Disguised as I'm fine
Cheers, to another glass of wine
Nicotine kisses
And high hope wishes
My heart knows was it misses
The look on your face of pride
The only side I never saw hide
Boom. Some thoughts.
Ben At93 Mar 2017
Lighter, flames,
Another ounce of nicotine in me,
And you're the one to blame,
For the way my heart feels,

And I crave for more of it,
The way it burns in my lung,
I won't care of the demise I'll meet,
Its the one thing I understand,

See you're just like nicotine,
Both **** the life out of me,
But at least with a cigarette I'll be,
High for a while and stress free,

It kills I know,
But so is the milk from which you could choke,
I'll die, yes I know,
At least I'll know its my fault,
Emmalee Feb 2014
The nicotine placed in your lips;
It reminds me of my last cigarette.
Like cherries,
Oh! The sweet taste of cherries.
I love it, this taste
Especially on you.
I miss the buzz, the high,
The feeling that I need
In order to cope with you being gone.
But when you're gone, that feeling
It's flown away as well.
And I'm left to wish
I had more nicotine
To settle my addiction.
enin Jan 2016
drowning in caffeine
breathing the nicotine
my blood cant circulate - your love will stimulate.
the ****** of death in **** will simulate
your touch , my need
as we spiral in to sin

separation , depression , paranoia
anxiety - the absence of my sleep
aggression , desperation
toxicity - of a drama we are in
discoloration - i can't control the spin

screams - muted by bitter pills
our dreams - induced by the  acid
capsuled lives - longing self destruction
your embrace - disconnection
release me from what is real

obsession - for what we cannot fix
frustration - for what we can't control
memories - of what we used to be
delusions - of what we could have been
isolation - thoughts of being free
now voices dictate what i should feel
digging through my skin - opening the wounds
put your fingers in

remembering the days when we held
an illusion no drugs could replicate
i can't forget.
exchanging promises of never letting go
was it all in my head?
i can't escape the hole.
i walk the road alone.
Jamie Santoro Oct 2010
Caffeine, nicotine, and you.
Three things that make me happy.
Three things that give me chills.
Three things that I hate.
Three things that I want to destroy.
Three things that won’t stop hurting me.
Three things that I can’t live without.
Three things that I laugh with.
Three things that keep me sane.
Three things that push me to close to the edge.
Three things that pull me close where it’s warm.
Three things that make everything else seem alright.
Three things that wreak havoc to my psyche.
Three things that always listen.
Three things that always leave.
Three things that define me.
Caffeine, nicotine, and you.
But I must quit you.
The trans-former Apr 2015
his eyes trace my figure as my fingers trace his
and when lips meet it proves of radiant bliss
but as soon as pale hearts meets the greeting night
then hips align like stars only to delight
as one we seek places of the highest standing
using directions written on love marked skin
once innocent, now dangerous
no question arises to contradict such action
for strangers eyes lead astray when they hear of our stories
but the novels we write are only locked and hidden
for those strangers would assure to steal them away
elegance and divinity are like those of vintage coffee shops
where broken hearts are mended with love stories, caffeine and nicotine
where our adventures are as priceless as the Mona Lisa
and no soul can buy or touch the love we express
frost-touched lips meet in the seldom disturbed fields
where thoughts gallops freely and laughs carry on caressing breezes
for we out number the night's stars in moments made into memories
and our touch burns hotter than the smoldering sun in the Sahara
desires dig deep as our roots of commitment
while seconds pass  by without your sheer image
for our novels live on, as we tangle around each other
and passion gleams farther in fields with cold breezes
darling, our love is stronger than imaginable
for with you, your more addictive than hot caffeine in the morning
stronger impulse than nicotine in a life-long habit
your love, our love
we are forever infinite
Simple nicotine
of the great
unwashed dean

Simply sitting down
on the sandy
bordered town

The village was so windy
you could
almost call it Indy

Boats were anchored
in a different
type of inn

       the wind today
               is warm

                                     the sins are left
                                             to warn

another day will pass
                                      as rain and sand c-clash
Hilary V Oct 2012
Marlboro Menthols, Lights, or Milds
Cowboy-killers, cancer-sticks
Guilty pleasure, a necessary fix
Holding hands with coffee

You get that jolt
Or shall I say relief
Days become more bearable
Courtesy of these,

Alcohol as a 3rd dimension
Aiding in more than just sleep
Take a pull and fill the need
Clear your head for a quick second

Alcohol, caffeine, nicotine;
They’re all I need
Mitchell Feb 2013
Goodbye Prague, to a city I never thought I'd know.
Goodbye Prague, to a heaven that is lined with shattered beer bottles and stamped out cigarettes the junkies and the hobo's here still manage to get a  few puffs out of.
Goodbye Prague, to a hell that was once hovering with the feelings of control, manipulation, and more control, but now is twirling top speed to a land unknown.
Goodbye Prague, you seductive ***** with your cheap liquor, beer, and cigarettes, smelling of aged mahogany mixed finely with an acidic burst of fresh *****.
Goodbye Prague, I do not know when I will see you again, but I hope that I do and that I never grow so old that I forget you.
Goodbye to your abstract animals smeared black, screaming in the exploding summer sun. Goodbye to freshly cut pigs heads and cow flesh, hanging in your storefront window, tempting every passerby like the *****'s of Amsterdam.
Goodbye to every cobblestone that shines after a fresh rain or snow, slippery to the newcomer, an annoyance to the amateur, thoughtless to the old timer.
Goodbye to the potraviny's stocked with two crown marked up ***** and space vegetables shaped and colored in a one and only kind of vernacular; without you, I would have half-drunkenly stumbled home towards dreams of menial headaches and shadowy beer or perhaps to The Oak to drink alone.
I scream so long through faint puffs of carbon nicotine clouds made illuminated by the icy orange street lamps 800 years old glow!
I scream so long to late metro's and early trams!
I scream so long to the roaring rocks who reflect the faces of aging clocks!
So long to passed out bums and unforgiving metro officers. So long to dollar fifty beers and the fear of getting deported. So long with counting silver crown to make even, seeing my math prowess has lessened. So long embedded needles and bottle caps deep within the snowy cobble. So long listless wanders all their money thrown away until the month of May comes to knock on their door. So long alleyway romance 100 crown notes and old men in their rickety fishermen boats. So long sad masked faces who in their forward march sit stunned seeing fortune picks only some. So long through the grey mist stabbed with neon signs that attract the youth and the mad. So long to the feeling everything I had to say was the wrong thing. So long to feelings of foreign familiarity whose ball and chain were slowly starting to rust away. So long in song to the player's of Riegrovy hill whose voices I just couldn't stand. So long I've come to understand everyone's got a choice to live or wish they did. So long to the wide swept hills of Petrin, where angel's of lore go to rest atop dusted fresh snow, among the dotted new born vine. So long to the sound of wet metal against metal, a scream of order carried on the blue man's shoulder. So long to a city whose architecture reminds me of old men's faces and whose color reminds me of elderly women's dresses. So long to smoking in front of children without a second thought for their health. So long to racism that is wicked, but grunted genially - the executioner smiles at the accused - the gravedigger's weep for the dead - the ant makes a break for a hill not his. So long forlorn love whose only remedy for a cure is the beer sitting in front of you. So long to wondering what's going on in the world, when all I want and got is what's right in front of me.
Farewell Prague, you shadowed street walker, a cloak of stars around you, finding all that owe you  your due.
Farewell Prague, you in the morning eyes half mast, snow crunching underneath stony white.
Farewell Prague, miss-handler of crooked time pieces stating the obvious, ignoring to blame bluntly on youthful alcohol abuse.
Farewell Prague, you took me up the hill and through the woods where ravens, black as gutter ice, crackled down at me like showers of New Year's fireworks.
Farewell Prague, you gave me peace where I once thought I was unable to have.
Farewell Prague, you befriended me, then ordered me a shot that made me cough, then ordered me a beer so we could sit and truly feel what it is to sit and wallow in our time here.
Farewell Prague, you entranced me with view after view to a city to stubborn to die.
Farewell Prague, I leave you like you would leave me.
Farewell Prague, to your fat snow flakes that drop into wide eyed children mouths, tasting of iron whiskey rye, though they do not flinch at the taste.
Farewell Prague, I leave you with a hush of a whimper, bitter as the cold, and indifferent as the server's over at Cafe Lourve.
Farewell Prague, with a thousand miles of graveyards, where ghosts barely have the strength to weep.
Farewell Prague, I admit I never knew how to love until I came to visit you.
Farewell Prague, as I stare out your cracked and smoky tram windows, my thoughts not my own, shop windows and naked, screaming men, their cigarettes bouncing in between their lips like a jack of spades on smack, where at last we see that life is only a worth a **** if lived.
Farewell Prague, I see the cards there on the table and you're winking at me while I stand at the backdoor, and what's more, there's a secret you've got to give that I refuse believe.
Farewell Prague, to your open sore catastrophe of society, KFC on every block, and Starbuck's on every other, and on the other other are the lined' wino's shaking open handed and spread for a case of cardboard vino.
Farewell Prague, to the nasty smoker's in trams that just stopped caring.
Farewell Prague, to a city rhythm generated by an ignorant originality and uniqueness, where the same has no name and the the plain jabber on about their jobs in their pretty blue jeans.
Farewell Prague, because to say goodbye would mean we don't have that friendly tone.
Farewell Prague, I see to sacrifice oneself for the comfort of the elder or the opposite fills me with agitated obligation stationed in a vessel older than I've ever lived - yet I know it, for it is me.
Farewell Prague, you are a lost lullaby caught in the wind of an elastic multi-colored pin-wheel, shining riches of the rainbow into the eyes of children, who all whistle when they snore.
Farewell Prague, a button upon the Earth, like every man.
Farewell Prague, a love song sung in the depths of a damp grey hall, rivers all around, so the sounds too much to drink were outlandish in high emotion, juvenile commotion.
Farewell Prague, we were young - not caring about the future, but of course, with worry in our hearts for worry is a sign of human being human; yet, still, we asked nothing of one another and you gave and I gave and you took and I took and we walked underneath one another's blanket's until we were no longer cold and the winter showed to be just an annoying individual at the party.
Farewell Prague, to your lack of complications, making simplicities acceptable again.
Farewell Prague, to the snow that never stops falling, all while slumbering within dream until the seam is ripped so the old can die.
Farewell Prague, I've shined every marble staircase and washed every tram window; you owe me nothing because I like you.
Farewell Prague, to the long nights bleeding away at the table alone, the lady fast asleep, lit by the dim orange glow of the twisted streetlights below.
Farewell Prague, to the long nights forgetting pains of existence and accepting every solution to ward of resistance.
Farewell Prague, our long talks and hovering walks, always forcing me to balk.
Farewell Prague, at last you got the praise you have always deserved.
Farewell Prague, to hot humid nights filled with *** and butter in the summer and cold bitten cold of ***** and juice a la winter.
Farewell Prague, to bad service but good drink and food.
Farewell Prague, you curious tale the bravest man would waver to say.
Farewell Prague, to bridges galore and more dead leaves then wrinkles on my crooked face.
Farewell Prague, at night the sheen of liquor wears off only if you let it be so.
Farewell Prague, to all the those lonely mornings bent head into book on the way to work.
Farewell Prague, how long till you grow to be young again?
Farewell Prague, how long till I admit my defeat to you?
Farewell Prague, how long until I accept I'm the last fool in this world?
Goodbye Prague, the last soldier is standing, but the war is not yet won.
Goodbye Prague, to your hazy stars glimmering and shining for an indebted audience.
Goodbye Prague, the sun breaking through ink spilled colored clouds, the birds chirping, the dogs barking, and us wondering where we started.
Goodbye Prague, your churches are empty so the sins of man run rampant and at last the prayers of men go unanswered; we now abandoned to fend for ourselves.
Goodbye Prague, the puncturing purity of your ways make me giggle in delight as I listen to the cool piano man play; his eyes on the horizon shattering like toppled china.
Goodbye Prague, at last there is a time where we both get what we want.
Goodbye Prague, the verandas are chilled with the dew of winter and the snow glitters like bitter diamonds as the fool tips his hat to shy away the sunlight.
Goodbye Prague, every rain drop that fell upon me was a gift you can never take away.
Goodbye Prague, the fool adheres to agnostic rules but the cruel here see no reason to sue.
Goodbye Prague, I think therefore the dust of escape reflects the waves of the river Vlatva.
Goodbye Prague, to your lack of vowels.
Goodbye Prague, when the night wavers hear the Beherovka weep into its own glass, love leaving her forever making no note to Kissy.
Goodbye Prague, tram driver's unforgiving in their merciless need for schedule.
Goodbye Prague, the last homage to the war standing like a shining diamond neath chipped and shattered rubble.
Goodbye Prague, a listless memory mentioned only in drifting dream.
Goodbye Prague, every loving glance smelling of freshly poured beer over newly fallen snow.
Goodbye Prague, to your hardness, your beauty, and your madness.
Goodbye Prague, your days wet with rain, stricken by sunlight, reflecting white emerald into the window panes of passing trains.
Goodbye Prague, at last you got what you deserved.
Goodbye Prague, now I can weep and say I have trampled upon your cheek and slunk through your veins and trudged through your blood and skipped through your hair and saw every line - both sought after and nought - you have acquired through time.
Goodbye Prague, there is no reason to get excited, you are free.
Goodbye Prague, I see the silhouette of the trees that line your hills and I am forsaken to see the leaves turning from jovial yellow greens to disregarded and disparaged furnaces of dim fire reds and browns.
Goodbye Prague, the people within you deserved all of the credit.
Good Prague, the people outside of you deserve what ever they believe they do.
Goodbye Prague, you family to families with common sense and love rampaging through your barley stained veins.
Goodbye Prague, perhaps there is nothing under your rubble, maybe already all is lost for everyone, everywhere, but maybe, you living the simpler life, can show all that life can be so.
Goodbye Prague, you gave me letters, words, lines, commas, apostrophes, and dashes, paragraphs, pages, and eventually, a story; I leave you marked.
Goodbye Prague, an old friend whose hand I shook but knew would one day turn my back on.
Goodbye Prague, the bite of your cold generosity and your bustling love leaves man with nothing but to bike back with no chance of triumph.
Goodbye Prague, street cleaners clean up your wear and tear from the mothers and fathers that bore you, some 800 years ago; ageless, you loom longer than they would like.
Goodbye Prague, battling sleep as the ***** raps for more and more, none that the man has.
Goodbye Prague, the night is curling in as the wave crashes to the short and I am the lost sun looking for a place to rise, trying to get to the sky.
A Howell Jan 2021
your lips remind me of the bottle of rosé
we shared on a cold November night,
full-bodied and lush
when i kiss you, i taste hints of citrus.

my lips on yours, full of passion, burning,
it reminds me of the cigarette you smoked
during the intermission of the play we watched last January,
as bright red embers, burn bright, keeping you warm.

you are my addictions,
my nicotine and wine.
SC Kelley Jan 2019
Love is like nicotine.

Once you've tried it once, you can't get enough.
You say you can live without it.
But you know you're lying to yourself.

That's why heartbreak physically hurts.
The way withdrawals physically hurt.
It makes you sick to your stomach.

You say it's the last time.
But it's not.
It's the final act, for now.

You can try to take a long break from it.
But it always comes slithering back.
Like a shadow you can't hide from.

You can't stop thinking about it.
You sit through your normal life.
Thinking about when your next fix is.

It fills your lungs and makes you feel good.
But shortly after you feel it in your stomach.
Like a poison slowly killing you.

Nicotine is like love.

~S.C.Kelley
Love, or lack thereof, can hurt
(read it all backward now)
Madisen Kuhn Apr 2014
i guess you only like girls who are broken
and want to be hurt, like your hands
around her neck, want
bruises and cuts
in the shape of a heart,
inhaling and choking on your affection
like she needs it to breathe

translucent skin stretched across
veins that pump nicotine and you
you, you, you, you, you

judgement clouded by hyper-dependent
infatuation and the need to heal her
hollowness, although you’ll only ever be
another teardrop on her pillowcase
while she hums herself to sleep
with midnight lies

“the loss of you would be the loss of my life”

and the saddest part
is that i almost let myself fall
back into becoming that
lifeless, empty girl
once more because i thought it might
make you love me again.
written on 3/22/14
lX0st Jul 2014
Maybe if I chain smoke
Until my lungs
Are as black
As your heart,
I'll understand
Why you left me
The way you did.
I **** the life
From the cigarette
Hoping it will
Return the favor,
But still
I crave you more
Than the nicotine.
Parker Louis Jan 2015
You kiss like electricity
Flowing through my veins like a circuit
You should have a warning sign
Because it's more addictive than nicotine in a vein
And there's no way I can refrain
Releasing energy only a powerplant can contain
My skin may not be metal
But your touch makes it just as conductive
You kiss like the sea
And you're as strong as the tide
Completely filled with mystery
The more I drink the thirstier I get
8/2/2013
RCraig David Apr 2013
Wrote this while my best friend since childhood and I drove 1300 miles to South Florida on a whim for Spring Break. It's epic, so get comfortable.

"Approachable but you wouldn't know it.  Proclamations of the Romantically Challenged"

Day one.

We meet, old friends...watch old friends...become old friends again.
We find our lost grins, ones only shared with our closer than kin.
Thin shagrins of lasting cynicism and sinister pasts are masks to the blasts we got away with and lived to tell the tale.
Alas, we are sons and friends first, not last.
We cling to our good old glory stories past,
But at last the time is new, our trip begins.
Wheels burn, stomachs churn.
Our aspired souls yearn,
to fire the liars and unconcerned.
We head for the East coast.
With temperatures rising,
approaching unseen horizons,
rejecting the superficially tantalizing,
we begin to feel our tattered souls wisen.
Talking a new talk, calculating the steps to walk a new walk.
Testifying our pains, devilishly dodging heavenly rains, the bitter bites but invites change.
Watching yourself in a friend, a cynical kidder gone bitter.
Your mirror becomes your babysitter.
We search our hearts and back again down I-10.
We find strength and talk about things friends for life can only talk about on a walk about.
We lift some Spirits to lift our spirits.
Night falls,
we arrive alive… our walk about calls 1,365 miles in 18 hours.

Day two begins.

Meet and greet with the beach.
Get a handle on some handy sandals,
some nicotine candy and butane candles.
A fifth of Daniels.
Jack and Jose will duel this day.
"You know it's know your fault, pass the lime and salt," ends most answers before noon.
Let's take some dares with the local fare, shadowing the glare of our wear and tear.
The sun fries,
windy sands fly,
waves pacify,
dropped bikini tops glimpsed from the corner of our eye, testify.
The Sun sets.

Shuffing off the nightlife status-quo of Clematis Row, we turn our walkabout into a Palm Beach Safari...Club.
Whoa! Rows and rows of walking, talking shows barely clothed from head to tanned toes.
Making funnies about hunting honies preying on money.
The unattainable passes. We tap our glasses.
"Point in case, what a waste, such tragedies as these, a lot of money and a little cheese meets a little ****** in high cut sleeves, low-cut cleaves & cuts way above the knees.
Our cuts are deep. Bartender, two Yagers please."

Low and behold…on those stools sit no fools.
Breaking all rules.
with Coronas as fuel,
we inflate our jewels.
As we coach our approach, mentioning "I-10 and back again" prompts grins,
hides our cynicism and sins,
then, moving in to win friends.
Names and places put to faces, careful glancing, winks and dancing.
Alright, the trips to the bathroom are getting old.
Warm smiles once cold, honest questions and truths told…no souls sold…we fold? Hmmmm.
We leave and arrive alive.
Caffine and nicotine stay the scene until the wee hours overpower us.

Day three unfolds

The sun rises and the ocean calls.
Old molds broken
No lies spoken.
No need to peddle your life away settling on the day-to-day following peers falsely content and full of contempt.
Eyes turn bright,
the Sun pours over night,
dolphin, lime and salt,
golfing talk,
day approaches night.
Less tense and more pensive,
more apprehensive and less expensive,
even so we head out to even the evening,
to end our grieving and start achieving....something.
Latitude changes have rearranged our attitude gauges.
So we choose West Palm's Clematis Row to show us how a little rude,
lude and tattooed could clue us in on the anew.
Fools with jewels.
Girls with rules.
Uncool tools abound.
We walk this street of sleekish freaks,
the falsely meek,
lions that squeak.
"Club Respectables" is dubbed rejectables as the objectionable scene is seen as a scheme by vampires with recessive genes.
Next is Spanky's…Best described as "A frat boy fishing pole contest to tackle box in bait shack." One bucket of beer away from "I got your back Jack in case of attack."
We move along.
Colombia Supreme brewed proceeding it's fine grind and American Online becomes the sign of the times swaying us to stay and play at an Internet Cafe.

"I could live here," proclaims a cynical kidder once bitter now soothed by the sea spray and salty air.

Enlightenment heightened by a magic man,
near night's end, inspires an O'Shea's Black and Tan.
The crowd mocks and baulks the sidewalk scene from the patio Pub Dubbed Irish.
We greet the ground,
not the masses' frown,
seat our ***** down,
toast our glasses of black and brown,
our bitters with bite wash down the bitter frowns we normally wear out in our hometown.
"That's a sharp Harp's and sinister Guinness; can I get a witness?"

We head back down our beaten path, writing our epitaphs and usual eulogies...But you know that the "place" or your "space" will change your face, one makes the case."If you sound bitter and you look bitter, chances are you are bitter."
I begin to smile during our final mile of token jokes,
Corona smokes,
shiny Harley spokes.
We leave and arrive alive at the realization,
we have things to strive for in our lives.  
We smoke and joke and poke fun at the run down broken blokes we were before our fun in the sun had begun.
  
Day four begins.
  
We embark for the Ozarks. Our souls at ease.
Save the scene...the last palm tree's waving leaves,  
we wave our palms and leave.
1300 miles more,  
Pushing the morning hour of four,  
empty coffee cups galore,  
moonings a score,  
pedal to the floor,  
memories and more,  
we knew we would be back for more.  
Suddenly learning how insane our inane claims of waning fame should hold no shame,
we reframe our game.
Upon our return…
the strength to strive, take back our broken banks and breaking backs.
Less taxing, more relaxing..."it could happen"... eliquinent waxing.
As we search our hearts and back again, down I-10,we find the strength in things you can only talk about on a walk about,
but that's what it was all about.
By R.Craig David-copyrighted 1995
RMatheson Sep 2014
Drinking down your melted chalk,
yet always choke it down.
Which of your nicotine stained lies,
inside this belly's grown?
Adam Burke Jul 2014
My hands are numb to all they touch
But I feel their inner workings better than ever.
I notice the strain while I'm writing,
The cramp when I'm wanking,
And the lack of a third line in my triplet.
Their blood runs cool like ethanol.
My eyes sting but they had the whole day,
Let my lungs have their moment.
Smoke soothes only second to air
But my carnal desires placed it higher in demand.

Warn all your kids
And take coughing fits.
The danger is real
That's just how I feel.

— The End —