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The Ashtray In The Corner There’s an ashtray in the corner Ghost of past lovers on my wall They’re haunting my propriety
I climb out my window just to see if I can. My parents used to be police officers, no joke, yet here I am in the clubhouse of a legitimate gang.
You and your ideas of luck and things that sad men sing and empty rooms bleed. There really wasn’t any need for you to be kind,
Lying, leaning, laying on. Under grass, on you, and to you too, You lay still, as if the lungs in your chest would burst if you drew a single breath. Maybe they might. Black Feeble Lungs,
I forget them in the day time, all the little lights At me they wave and blink and do their damndest to get my attention, but I pay them no mind
A melancholy longing settles over the streets & avenues heading east, One third of tobacco in a pre-lit cigarette no longer satisfies rushing & starved organs,
When you kiss me the taste of that ginger ale you’ve been sipping at invades my mouth along with the smoke of that
Hey, what’s your name? I’m so charming, i’ll leave a bad taste in your mouth. But don’t put me to blame. I’m the perfect fit for you.
FLAMES BURN EVERY INCH AROUND ME EVERYTHING I TOUCH TURNS BRIGHT ORANGE I LIGHT A CIGARETTE WITH MY FINGER INHALING EVERY BREATH OF SMOKE THE FIRE BURNS BRIGHTLY CONSUMING MY LIFE MY MEMORIES
My “fashionable” addiction to cigarettes has given me a few things: One. A metallic flavor coating the inside of my cheeks , paired with a yellow tongue that tastes it.
Dear Dad, There are few things that remind me of you. Take a person who has smokes a pack a mix it with the black ice air freshener and that was your permanent car smell. Whatever your cologne scent was, it screamed you.
Dear cicadas: Remember when breakfast was a cup of coffee and a cigarette, every morning standing with my back to the wind-- the glass statue,
To My Mother Momma he beats me. What do you want for dinner? Leftovers sound fine. To My Lover Abroad Tell me you love me. Remember the ferry ride?
Buy into the aestheticI wouldn't spare you a dime I am my own butcher of my edifice Not a single truth nor a single lie Could slow the ebbs in current Could stop the rising tide
inhale exhale it's twilight and you've lit my flammable heart, created an aching kindle in my soul. i feel your tabbaco lips on this early somber night, my hands are hesitant to reminisce the warmth of you.
She sat in her 1994 Geo-Tracker, in the school parking lot-- feet on the dash and all. She was sipping on Robitussin, and smoking a cigarette.
Do not fall in love with me. For I will show you movies, Read you books, And sway with you to music. I will poison your favorite places to escape. And when you decide enough is enough.
Roll her up in the sheets of the night before. Light her up, watch her dance round your lips. She can’t be good to me, they say. Then why so sweet to my lungs?
I traded my sorrows for a pretty face And a bottle I traded my sorrows for him And a cigarette to my lips My sorrows were replaced
there see it? Ashes on the windowseal grey my fingertips as I lean over you a white dog sits by the oak stump in our yard so? whats so special about some dog?
Let me smell like cigarettes, after kissing your sweet, pouty lips. Help me look from left to right, please give me wisdom, give me sight. I'm stranded here with nowhere to turn,
Smoke cascades like soft grey velvet, past cracked lips that slowly release the worries of the world, Kill yourself a little bit every day, because that's better than living long enough to think about you,
Mommy where have you beenUp in your headIn your own little mindWith the alcohol and nicotineI miss you momBack in your sober daysI miss comin home to see you smiling
With silver venom flowing from his torn lips That suggested he might do the same He told me his mother had died of lung cancer Yet before I could question the lit cigarette
airplane basslines grind cityscapesand we're swaddled in prisms of electrical amber; your love's so easy to swallow and it feels like we're glowing,it kills me so slowly- gentle,temperamental
Even if all the contents Confined within The cage of one's soul Were to spill Could we understand them? Such a question In such a queer situation Was presented to me When the sky had
I am every bit as pathetic as the paper in my mouth. The paper that will very soon become a topic of discussion among my friends; Wondering why my hands now smell like anxiety,
There was a month where I smelled like cigarettes. You were the month that I tasted like misplaced jokes, who's punch-line snaked around my jaw;
I never thought I'd slip this hard.
Do not love a man who drinks as if he is invincible (but complains about the hangover);
When I'm with you, I smoke less When you're with me, you smoke more What a perfect way to describe our relationship You may be good for me But I'm no good for you
With all the cups you gave,
I am a millennial, a ‘Y’ Part of the Global Generation Born between the birth of AIDS And 9/11
The stinging of my lungs as I inhale in The smell of burning paper and fumes fill my nose The smoke disappears before my eye, becoming one with the air around it
Nam Myo Ho Ren Ge Kyo.
You're like a cigarette.
Dad says to mom, I need a ride to the pharmacy The car is too hot, maybe we should walk. I’m left to watch my brothers and sisters discuss teenage melancholy rumors and cigarettes.
Walking away from this pain, Leaving it behind, To try and see, A new light.
A million stars up in the sky one shines brighter I can't deny A love so precious a love so true a love that comes from me to you The angels sing when you are near within your arms I have nothing to fear
I loathe your addiction to cigarettesand the women you go to seebecause one is killing you
Nicotine That beautiful toxic chemical That disgustingly addictive drug
Since he was nine years old, slowly destroying his lungs.
I’ve been exhausted in vain Becoming a waste of space Growing used to verbal abuse For a minimum wage
Cigarettes. I hate them. I hate that people smoke them and I hate what they do to people.
I've see them smoke their cigarettes some almost a pack a day. And watch them give breath to the very thing, that will take their breath away.
The unknown So I find myself sitting on a sofa in the middle of nowhere At house in the middle of nowhere With people I don't know in the middle of nowhere Contemplating where my place is
It made my stomach wretch to see you together Your ravished lips pressed against her Lungs pining for her siren's breath Fingers stroking her paper skin, like a beggar
Barbed wire 'n bullets raked through a mind Of sheer brilliance and beauty that's just been so blind Why, oh why, does this torture keep true Go feed on a mind with much less value!
Why does she keep coughing? Its like she can't breath or something. But I know she can breath Because if she couldn't breath She wouldn't be able to smoke!
As I drive, I suddenly feel the need
Intricate Beautiful Lovely You Fragile Broken Shattered You Looking in the mirror I see imperfect beauty Because nothing is perfect
Smoke another cigarette to take you away
A pleasant wind doth call your brother's name, But clouds and flames are all he can proclaim, A wizard's trick, a chemist's mix, Are the absurdity of this fix. Hollow are his feverish pleas,
He crushed the butt of his cigarette into the rusted tray, A valley of forgotten grey. After flexing his filthy fingers, his gaze sharply drove into me. I lost my breath.
"Breathe in as I light it, I know it seems counter-intuitive."
Take a drag off that cigarette, That is a decision you will regret. Tap excess ashes with your finger, As the smoke begins to linger.
One breath, two breaths, you stop;
Cigarettes and Angels When an angel smokes a cigarette, it’s a sign that no heart is too sacred to char black. When the cursing red glow of flickering light
I found him on the corner of Central Ave. He just stood there smoking his cigarette Making little white ghost with each exhale Creating more clouds to shade the earth He knows I'm watching, he's no fool
10+11 are the days I should stay home Your mother called. She asked me what you want for dinner, chicken or spaghetti? How can I be special at home?
Walking in the woods and looking down On the ground and around And finding remnants of the past And wondering what happened to those who used to call this place home.
Smoke, Rolling off the tongue, The taste of blackened ash. Endorphins filling my brain, A long sigh, Sparks burning my thigh.
The thought of losing you Makes my mind go blue No more beer No more cigarettes No more smell of it upon your breathe Empty garden Empty shed My mom lies alone in the bed All your jokes are remembered