"stogies" poems
I hate the way you hold cigarettes
and how you never drunk text me
at 3am. I want to be the person you
think of when a sloppy drunkard
is kissing you at a bar. His breath
rank with stale stogies, light beer,
and cheap whiskey. He uses way too
much tongue and swears his ****
won’t fit in a ****** He couldn’t
spell *********** and even if he uses
his fingers, it’s not enough to make you
*** I hate bad lovers and that’s all
I imagine you with. Dudes who say
“wanna play just the tip?” and other
lame *** **** because nobody ever
told them “ladies first” and you have
to stimulate the ****
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 2:45 PM UTC
When I smell nicotine
I think of her,
and I think it's kind
of funny her nickname's
Nikki.
Men thought of her
as half smoked stogies
they can get a buzz from
and just flick away.
Her mind set was,
if they decided to abuse
her, hey, it's not her
that's gonna end up getting
lung cancer.
But really I shouldn't be comparing
this woman to cigarettes.
She's more exotic than any
American spirit or
no. 27 that you could find.
She's straight, she swears
but she ground her hips
against mine just as fine
as she grinds her ****
My lips were attached to her neck
and when we switched spots
she laughed as my moans echoed out
the open window.
Now this woman. She has the highest
level of confidence
or self-esteem I have ever seen.
But she could shrink her
waist in a week
if someone commented
on how skinny I was.
She's had her body held in a cage,
but they couldn't tame her.
She's not afraid of anything.
Not with her chinked eyes,
or methed out shake,
I don't think you can intimidate
someone after they've had
a gun held to their face.
She deserves so much more
then she has been giving herself.
So when I smell nicotine I try to place
the memories of the flavor in my mouth
on us trying to cover up the **** smell.
Her memory shouldn't be brought up
by the smell of a cancer stick.
But then again,
She's just as deadly as one.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 2:38 PM UTC
When you could be the start
And she could be the end
When I could be the mark
And this could be the scar
When she becomes to far
And you become to close
Tomorrow never comes
Watch our hands fall apart
Where you would be the one
And she would be the done
Where I would be the sun
I'd make you shine on
So don't pretend
On the things that depend
On the things that weren't said
Just one more caress
If I was the grass you can be the flower
Id love you til the end til the very last hour
I hope these moments will last all of forever
Every time a pedal falls I'd put it back together
So I shoot you with the tip of my pistol
I repeated the crime and I won't even miss her
I read her life including all of her faults
Like the saddest and most beautiful braille book
Moments like these always come free
you grab the stogies and I grab the coffee
You gleam like the moon and eyes like the stars
Let's join hands instead of it breaking apart
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 11:43 AM UTC