Walking past you on the street,
between your fingers the stick burns,
inhaling and exhaling,
the cloud of smoke floats up
higher and higher towards the sky.
The ashes fall as you flick them away,
getting smaller now, but you fail to cease.
The paper burns as the tar enters your throat
shredding through your lungs,
leaving them black and tainted.
Burning your lips, and stinging your throat,
finishing it right to the filter.
But yet you enjoy it.
You enjoy it. You crave it,
and you claim to need it.
What a way to live your life,
in a cloud of smoke, one big daze.
Wake up already.
You repulse me.
No comments:
Post a Comment