My teeth are going to shatter,

But it doesn’t matter

The smoke enters my mouth,

Goes south,

Coating my lungs,

Scraping the membranes off of my tongue.

I don’t sing…I sung

Before cigarette’s won.

When I think about em I think “Give me one, please.”

“Don’t Mutherfuckin’ tease.”

“Get on your mutherfuckin’ knees!”

I know it,

Cause I ho it.

I can’t breathe when I take a hit

and I can’t breathe when I don’t, shit.

The feeling remits, my jaw muscles feel like a muzzle

The reason I quit becomes a puzzle

Cause speed down two weeks and I’m like an infant with a special gift


Right about now I could be Phillip Morris’s number one missionary,

pick a word in the dictionary and I’ll justify why my brain activity

looks like a chunk of Italy or a piece of Swiss cheese

as I nicotease my cilia without remorse.

I will quit, of course,

But I will always be smoking in my head.

Drinking Johnny Bootlegger on a Champagne budget. Editor @ and

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