Nicotine Poems - Poems about Nicotine

the sharp cry of metal scrapping flint sets you ablaze, combustion, turning oxygen and nicotine into ash in my mouth, I want to kiss you my dear, I want to breath you in and fill my lungs to the brim with your choked up hope I want to wait and see, believe with every part of me, that when i finish this...

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im playing cards with pandora and she’s bleeding her hand its so painfully obvious i see her grand plan, because calamities hit a set and she’s feeling alright but theres one card left im holding hope tonight and its hope which keeps me in this game, im bankroll backed no matter the pain that might come from losing it all im in too deep not prepared to...

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im playing cards with pandora and she’s bleeding her hand its so painfully obvious i see her grand plan, because calamities hit a set and she’s feeling alright but theres one card left im holding hope tonight and its hope which keeps me in this game, im bankroll backed no matter the pain that might come from losing it all im in too deep not prepared to...

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The woman in the next booth was gorgeous Ronnie started to introduce himself Then he saw the cigarette His mother had been a smoker He could not abide the stench of it The smell of nicotine curdled his nose hairs He walked rapidly away, wishing she was not a smoker But alas, she was, so they were not meant to be The woman...

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Holding up this lit cigarette, Like tiny trumpet in fingertips....

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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....

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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....

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I’ve known a few who were addicted To alcohol, drugs and eating I’ve seen their struggle and known their pain Witnessed their yearning for a better way I’ve felt them fighting with all their heart To find the answers to the problems That keep them abusing themselves I’ve known many who are hooked On nicotine, caffeine or gambling While many others are left praying...

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I am the master of my body I think until I realize nicotine has taken over she is in charge now. she decides whether my day will be full of cheer. I did not think I could crave something as much as I do her. Smoking was something I learned to do by example – both parents. their home is...

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she reached for another cigarette her face falling apart cracked and parched her throat scratchy her children begged her to stop her anxiety floated away as her fix was given she got uglier her teeth turned yellow she stopped being pretty cancer of the mouth her tongue was gone she kept lighting up her tears never sated her life over...

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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....

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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...

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Love is my nicotine In a world of material girls, I don’t need a thing. There is no possession I could not live without, As long as I could still write and hear people sing. Music is everywhere, so I know that people care, But as for my things? Money is not needed there. Cigarettes, no alcohol. My addiction...

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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...

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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....

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