Poems about smoking



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№ 1209374

Smoking, Drinking, and Drugs

She insists that they set her free
The only way she can really be

That the tarnished liquid
Soothes her soul
As soon as it begins to take it toll

The fog in the air isn't just clouds
It's a heaven she says
And it makes her proud

I know I'll say to her one day
That this was never just her coffin
It was her young inescapable fate


drinking,  drugs,  smoking.

Author: mochiu
+0-
Date: 06/04/2020


№ 1204144

3:06 am, looking out the window, smoking a cigarette, drinking a strong rye whisky and thinking.

Where are you?


cigarette,  drinking,  rye,  smoking,  strong,  thinking.

Author: JRBarclay
+0-
Date: 01/04/2020

№ 1202228

Smoking Thoughts III

Did you ever feel the moonshine on your skin?
Less intrusive and still tickling.
A moon and one star in front of me,
Aligned like a watch hand,
But only the moon is moving.
Though, wherever he went,
The moon always comes back.


iii,  smoking,  thoughts.

Author: Pierre
+0-
Date: 31/03/2020

№ 1200357

Smoking

I'll walk into my home smelling like cancer and tasting like death because I don't want you. I'm selfish. I want you to break up with me. I want you to be so disgusted by my habits that it breaks you down until you realize that I'm not going to wait for you to figure out that I don't need you. I need space and you're not letting me push you away. I need you to push away from me; break me apart so that I'll at least know you aren't incapable of feeling broken. I want you to leave me so I don't have to deal with you being broken because of me. I can't do it anymore. I've broken so many people, but for some reason I can't break you. So, I need you to break me.


smoking.

Author: Neboni Lalighmind
+0-
Date: 29/03/2020


№ 1198792

Smoking

There is a boy in the library, ignoring the crazy lady talking through the window.
I feel like telling him she is nice. And probably not half as crazy as the librarians in this town. She has 2 children. They live in Greece. And when she cries, her dogs hide under the deck.
But he probably doesn't speak English.
Hardly any of these people sitting on their backpacks at the library do. And even if he did, he wouldn't listen.
He is reading. Its a good book. I know its a good book. I've read it. Now I feeling like telling him to leave.
He should not read it here, underneath the colour wallpaper. He needs to find a corner of a beach, so he doesn't have to cry in public. And he has to cry, because if he doesn't, I know the crying will happen inside. And his eyes will turn a shade darker with the smoke of their deaths, and his muscles will strain to rip from his ridiculously alive tendons. His eyes are already black, and I do not think he can afford to find more darkness.
Not that I would know.
He might pick cherries for a living and flirt with a trailer park attendant called Fiona is his spare time.
But I have a smell for the scared and enclosed people here. I can see the kracken hunters and the faerie kissers. They show themselves to me accidentally and I turn watch them destroy their dreams.
People ask me why I am cold all the time. They do not understand, because the boy at the library closed the book before he could cry and I knew he would be destroyed anyway


smoking.

Author: fighting bees
+0-
Date: 27/03/2020

№ 1198625

What are you smoking?

All the poets on this site
With creativity so so great
Are so unbelievable that
I just know they gotta
Be smoking something.


smoking.

Author: Seb Garcia
+0-
Date: 27/03/2020


№ 1196003

Smoke, smoking ,toking

Even if the city is filled with smoke

Because of the fires


Even if the smokes feel my lungs and brains and make me feel dizzy

I still smoke cigarettes
And smoke weed

... my brain feels...

Kinda... light.


smoke,  smoking.

Author: BR
+0-
Date: 25/03/2020

№ 1194514

Smoking Out My Lungs

Bellows,
That's what they are,
Doubling at times as jars
Into which green forgetful herbs
Are placed.


lungs,  smoking.

Author: Joshua John White
+0-
Date: 23/03/2020

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