Inhaling less than swallowing, the smoke
Is churning in guts turned over frail lungs.
There is a taste of parties that evoke
Loitering and after *** chill sessions.
It's all just floating in the space between
Pulsing diaphragms and small intestines.
Hitting tobacco from the **** to ween
One from cigarettes is like invest'n
In a slower death. One accidental
Flex of the throat and feel the backward blows
Of a thousand dead leaves instrumental
In slacking muscles blocking acid flows.
      Some tums might help, throwing up, or quitting.
      Nah! I'll **** lemons and keep on spitting.