Best Nicotine Poems
*LIFE, WHAT A RUSH*
Silence needs to be spoken and put out like a cigarette
The joy - the laughter - the expression found in a silhouette
Inhale the wholesomeness - Exhale the worthiness.
The soul- addicted to all the toxins this world contains
Life is like nicotine circulating throughout your veins
Wrath is a venom that absorbs all the fumes that flow
Trigger the mind and you'll see smoke blow
Hope entwined with clouds of wisdom
Tobacco strangling every inch of the nerve system
Vapors exceed emotions, love and veneration
Smog proceeds in slow motion
Puffing the beauty, by draining the heart and mind
Filtering all the nicotine bad breath left behind
~*~
Nicotine death
devil in smoke
shining in front your eyes with Harry potters
invisible cloak taking
Breath by breath with
every smoke
you'll choke
its no joke
stop the smoke stop the smoke
black
tar
dimming
a
inner
star
shriveling
lungs
far to
young bad tasting
tongue
struggling to
absorb air
so you seek to sit down some where ,frantically stretching
to reach a near chair, with a mysterious fear, with the
other hand wiping a single tear, and you can hear a
loud chime and ringing ,as your swaying swinging and
you whisper your last poem, that you never got to show EM!
HE SAYS ......I shall never smoke again..... THE END
He in the arms of Gentle she.
he watches his body from above
it was to late
Becoming smoke was his final fate....
ITS SAD TO SAY IT!
Grime in lungs
Grime took his time away
with his wife and kids he couldn't stay
I don't know but
i am no hypocrite
but I decided to quit!
Face well worn, Graying hair,
Marlboro in his mouth.
Clay-dirt boots, dusty hat,
Bologna from a sack.
Tastes of nicotine and diesel,
he can’t spit it out.
The old man makes his living
on a caterpillars back.
PATIENCE AND NICOTINE
“coffee, two sugars, hold the cream please”
home made filtered cigarettes
bitterly cutting the cost.
too many books on the floor and the walls.
he cooks dinner – chicken and au gratin potatoes –
“put more potatoes. it lasts longer.”
cars speed on M-72 – noisy speed –
the dog licks herself desperate
with nothing else to do
birds chatter from one cage to another
and I am lost in normality
with my freedom strangled
in dusty curtains and a sinkfull of dirty dishes.
“do they have cats in Baghdad? CNN didn’t say.”
car insurance is due – life is due.
he cooks dinner
“did you put more potatoes?’
I wait for what is mine,
maybe a knock on the window
in the morning or at midnight,
but he kisses me and rushes in the kitchen.
today I look old with my life at a lent starving
I’m unplugged from today – no spices
“how was your day?” “fine. yours?” “fine.”
slice, spice, butter, bake.
I didn’t laugh or cry today
no twittering of blue birds
just screams and groans of a mad beast
that bites foaming, clawing the wrinkled skin.
we are two old statues in the park
and pigeons **** on us
because we forgot to be drunk on foolishness.
I've been smoke free two months today.
I haven't smoked and I hope that's how things will stay.
Please don't start smoking, it wasn't a good thing for me to do.
Please say no to nicotine because that is what is best for you.
Like an ester, she clings
Silver-tongued yet soaked in
Sepia. A perfume of precarious
Yellows and ambers in hues and
Dazes of a light and melodious
Brown. Mustard gas pigments
Filtering onto impure hands
Vapour smog; rampant in clots
Flooding into hair, hands, the leather
Of skin; into an eternity.
Ash collecting like a snow flood
Of monochromes and greys
Fading partially to blanks and
Dances of dirty blonde, promiscuous
Addiction; timeless Bright Young Thing
The very nature of an elixir
All our addictions catch us in the end
The curtain call rupturing on
Barbed wire hands and claws
A hunters' snare; beautiful for only a moment
Catching eternal, ethereal glassy air
You are the nicotine rushing through my head
Each kiss a long drag off my Red
Your touch consumes me like smoke
You are my addiction
They made it so hard to speak your name,
So much harder for me to blame them.
Enters in red right through my chest you
burned a clear gap.
Ready,
aim,
fire.
Dynamite and dopamine share a first dance
A lit cigarette in my naive little hand.
Each inhale like kerosene to my roots
Exhaling flames in the face of the truth.
I was always so willing to hold my breath
for you.
Nicotine Nicotine,
Mr. Nicotine.
He hooks You if a kid,
he hooks You in between.
And he will hook You,
Every Molecule of being.
Mr. Nicotine,
Deadly Wicked Fiend.
Nicotine Nicotine,
Mr.Nicotine.
He Roll's in cash,
Poisons Blood Streams,
Man has a plan,
and You Can't Breathe.
MR. Nicotine,
A Fatal Paper Sleeve.
MR. Nicotine,
Until Your Last Weeze.
H.Eless
Poet.
Wish i never would have left the house,
Our pride Our big Solanaceae family.
Never wished to bring dishonor to our family.
I just wanted to do something on my own that people would appreciate & would know how important i am,
but not in this way!
Sorry that i left Nicotiana, I know i belong to the house of Nicotiana.
I knew i had something in me so addictive but i always took it as my inner voice pushing me towards success.
Wish i never would have met Harmine, Thought we had something in common that would make us grow big.
Never even thought that we would make it so big that half of the world population would start suffering.
But again, Why dont human use there brain to get rid off the addiction? Why dont they stop smoking even if they know its not good?
Why its always me to be blamed? Why its just my existence bringing them close to their death?
No! I am not addictive! No! I am no the only cause behind their Death!
Its the human nature to blame something else for their failure, Not ME!
though I was born
as a cancer in a death bed
drifting apart
from the trinity
from dignity
it is the brain
which needs some chemicals
beyond boundaries
of the meaning of placebo
twelve divisions
of signs ignite
smouldering
inhaling
burn through skies
something is missing
to decrease the tension
in a negative light
to cure the insomnia
in an ecliptic sphere
and worsening mood
floats with philosophy
in the evening lounge
The inside of my knuckles,
Between the middle and index finger,
Burn like hell.
This cigarette has drawn an ash,
Longer than I could draw a line
Upon a piece of paper.
I'm afraid,
To inch my hand anywhere near it.
This keyboard,
It's so god damn clean.
Is it necessary to create such a mess,
Upon the place my hands work?
While the canvas,
The bright screen,
Remains clean?
flash of pearly smile,
but a tinge of nicotine
oh, can still be seen.
She smells like nicotine
It is in her hair and on her nails.
It resonates when she speaks
And it puffs smoke when she wails.
She is kind of a cigarette clown.
Her scent is not feminine or nice.
She has such a terrible odor
That I would rather smell my mice.
Holding up this lit cigarette,
Like tiny trumpet in fingertips.