Smoking Poem

My teeth are going to shatter,

but it doesn’t matter.

The smoke enters my mouth,

goes south,

scraping the membranes off of my tongue,

coating my lungs.

I don’t sing,

I sung

Before cigarette’s won.

When I think about ’em I’m like

“God, I’m dumb.”

I mean….give me one,


I’ll give you my keys.

Don’t mother fucking tease

Get on your motherfuckin’ knees!

I know it

Cause I ho it.

I can’t breath when I take a hit

and I can’t breath when I don’t, shit,

the feeling remits.

My jaw muscle feels like a muzzle

The reason I quit becomes a puzzle

Cause speed down two weeks and

I’m like a newborn 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 off Italy

or a piece of swiss cheese

as I Nicotease my cilia without remorse.

I will quit, of course,

but I will always be fucking

smoking in my head.



Drinking Johnny Bootlegger on a Champagne budget. Editor @ and

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