Smoking Poems
Our first and last fag
by Baramundi Roy
We saved up a tanner and ran to the shop down the road
then crept quietly back home hiding our precious load.
No one was around so the three of us crept up the stairs
The excitement mounting as the light from the match flares.
We all had a fag in our mouths and we inhaled the smoke
then each one of us turned bright red and began to choke.
We’d bought 5 woodbines because they were the cheapest
but they wouldn’t listen when I said Park Drive were the best.
......
Feeble Love and Ashes to Ashes
by John Hughes
I look at the ashes of my life everyday
The cigarette caresses my lips
I rub my lips with the butt hoping to jar loose some old love from an old flame
Something to think about as I’m on deaths door
But cigs know me too well, and they know it’s the most action I’ve got in years
The breath taken in hits the mucus in my lungs
And I drink, oh do I drink to my hearts content
The continuous noxious breath in is killing me
It’s like I don’t want to breath unless I’m also stimulated inherently by the thing I’m breathing in
This love affair, I wish it would grow dark and I could lose love
......
Craven
by John Hughes
I wish I could put my cravings in an airtight bag and watch them convulse, riot and then die.
Better yet I’ll put them in a bag and send it down the river.
All those thousands of bags you see are my vice cravings.
The whirlpool of desire grips me strongly as I pass through, but I just must remember that calm waves are blessed just as much as whirlpools are cursed.
When I’m drunk and I smoke a cig its like my frontal lobe detaches from my body and plays somewhere else, maybe it looks down on me like john my boy you are better than this.
Sometimes I smoke to make a song better but its just a damn trick, it can’t make nothing better because the smoke filling your lungs is just another nothing, a non-stimulant masquerading for too long in the way of leisure.
How can you find leisure in something that kills you, maybe it’s because you’re still alive and you think the threat of death is still so far from you, it’s not.
Don’t you notice yourself dying every moment you hit it, everything goes away, every hurt, every worry but you also lose things you never thought you would lose.
You have given up the real and now your life is ashes
Death Incarnate
by John Hughes
Every cigarette a bullet to the brain
The smoke is noxious and unfulfilling
The smoke burns in all my blood to a boiling point
I cant stop, a living hardly breathing shell of a once proud man
Write the words on my heart, smoking destroys lives
The life unsmoked is a pleasurable one, only the lucky know the tale
Running, living unburdened, not tied to a stick of plant matter and unknown chemicalers that control our breathing and influence every decision preluding and following.
The filthy cigarette
by Saleh Ben Saleh
I am that slender lady in sexy white sheets,
my figure is smoking hot when my body touches the heat.
I’ll give you moments of pleasure and a fill of nicotine,
but around your healthy lungs I’ll weave my tricotine
I am a silent killer
causing deadly disease,
but people ignore the warnings and signs of expertise.
......
Why must you
by John Hughes
I swear the smoke that comes off a cigarette could densely fill more than the pack of itself and another
Why must we inhale so much smoke, why must the smoke be so filling to our needs
Consoling us as if were children, the smoke coddles us into a stupor
A drunk, stimulated and growing force of nature that puffs his way to freedom
The clouds are a wreck with so much smoke, my smoke is way up into the heavens
And my troubles along with it, go further with my feelings oh smoked belly feelings
Go as far as you can and leave me alone with myself
Tell my ancestors up there that I’ll give it up, I want to give it up
Oh ancestor thee is tired of toiling and boiling help me give in to life more
Instead of placing smoke as the grand pleasure it is not
......
Fuel
by John Hughes
I’m fueled by monster, beef jerky and cigarettes
My blood is a poison, a drop could kill the sane and fix the addict
Driving hand in hand with a cigarette calm the worries of this broken body and self
The beef keeps me sharp and fighting able in case I meet a man with nothing to lose
I’m just a smoke ghost with no legs filled with carbonated ew-ctoplasmic fruit juice, it’s a wonder I can drive at all
If I were to give it up my body would crumble under the weight of nothing consequential but still
If you are what you eat, you can know me by my real name, beefy monster fag
Feeble Love and Ashes to Ashes
by John Hughes
I look at the ashes of my life everyday
The cigarette caresses my lips
I rub my lips with the butt hoping to jar loose some old love from an old flame
Something to think about as I’m on deaths door
But cigs know me too well, and they know it’s the most action I’ve got in years
The breath taken in hits the mucus in my lungs
And I drink, oh do I drink to my hearts content
The continuous noxious breath in is killing me
It’s like I don’t want to breath unless I’m also stimulated inherently by the thing I’m breathing in
This love affair, I wish it would grow dark and I could lose love
......
Death Incarnate
by John Hughes
Every cigarette a bullet to the brain
The smoke is noxious and unfulfilling
The smoke burns in all my blood to a boiling point
I cant stop, a living hardly breathing shell of a once proud man
Write the words on my heart, smoking destroys lives
The life unsmoked is a pleasurable one, only the lucky know the tale
Running, living unburdened, not tied to a stick of plant matter and unknown chemicalers that control our breathing and influence every decision preluding and following.
Craven
by John Hughes
I wish I could put my cravings in an airtight bag and watch them convulse, riot and then die.
Better yet I’ll put them in a bag and send it down the river.
All those thousands of bags you see are my vice cravings.
The whirlpool of desire grips me strongly as I pass through, but I just must remember that calm waves are blessed just as much as whirlpools are cursed.
When I’m drunk and I smoke a cig its like my frontal lobe detaches from my body and plays somewhere else, maybe it looks down on me like john my boy you are better than this.
Sometimes I smoke to make a song better but its just a damn trick, it can’t make nothing better because the smoke filling your lungs is just another nothing, a non-stimulant masquerading for too long in the way of leisure.
How can you find leisure in something that kills you, maybe it’s because you’re still alive and you think the threat of death is still so far from you, it’s not.
Don’t you notice yourself dying every moment you hit it, everything goes away, every hurt, every worry but you also lose things you never thought you would lose.
You have given up the real and now your life is ashes
