I was told to say away from you
I was told that you would **** me
I was told that you were a cancer
I was told and didn't listen
You burned me more than that first Cigarette had
You made it harder to breath than the smoke I inhale
You we more cancerious than the nicotine in my blood
You were worse than the Cigarettes I smoke

Some cigarettes
that you have smoked
will tell you;
this is a life
where you must not give up
and keep trying
and hoping
for every good
that grows
from your breath.

drinking alone, smoking,
playing dead, overthinking,
a psyche made of bad habits
and a stomach that's always sinking.
this is the summer of silhouette,
laying in the shade, apathetic slumber,
the figure of a man in the background,
counting my ribs and fearing the number.
i go transparent in the sunset -
the sickness is tangible, apparent,
just as i knew, feared -
it's buried in my chest, inherent.
i can't get better when
it's just paper mache and cigarettes;
i pray and pray and pray
but no one's heard me yet.

Smoke some cigarettes
laugh at the process
  meet the woman you longed for
and have a beer or two.
Tell her that her eyes are like bottle caps
   something inside of her is worth
every drop of intake
  and that her lips are soft as the pillows you rest on after a 8 to 5 job.
She's all the rest you need  
you're being captive by a soul
that sheds every time you are one step
away from her
And now that you have her
she'll turn to wine
and loving her gets better
as the years go by

Open container filled with empty ashes,
a heart broken like a pair of old sun glasses.
Time's have changed and moon fades to grey,
my lips kiss the end of a fresh cigarette, lighting the tip
I begin to puff, blow out the smoke and feel a rush through my veins.

He said he likes my clothes
And how they smell like smoke
It reminds him of someone he knew long ago

I caught a whiff of you
In your cloud of tobacco
It was a soft, subtle smell
Enough to call me back though

It tickled my nose
and my other senses
It wasn't floral like rose
It was just your pretenses

There was lavender burning
But that wasn't it either
It was sultry and raw
I don't know why I bothered

I couldn't rest my finger
I don't know what it was
Perhaps it was your eyes?
Burning down our love

It's the still nights, the stormy nights
When I want a cigarette
To spark life in my breath,
When sleep seems dead set
On avoiding me.
It leaves me asking why?
I don't even smoke.