So, you've heard that before
As I light up and draw
A deep fix of tar, to calm
My nerves - and yes, do yet more harm
That I chose to ignore
For so long

Until a threatening lump and my wheezy breath
Spoke volumes higher than the usual moans
Of my children and friends whose groans were a warning
Like those on each pack
Of how I inhaled a possibly grisly death
It must be wrong

To smoke - there's no point - not even a joint
Is worth the habitual morning's yellow spit
Hacked up, noisy, rough and crude
Leaving me morose and mellow
With constant thoughts that I really ought
To stop

While I write this, I think - do I really stink?
Is it pretty? This curling blue-grey screen
That rises about my face, that lingers in my hair unseen
Would it look less ugly if the smoke I blew were pink?
Rated between a bovine look while chewing gum
And twirling hair whilst sucking thumb?

Some say, go on, I don't mind, relax
Well here's a few facts
This addictive stuff is chilling enough
And helps me unwind as I puff
But that nasty but nice nicotine
Is killing me

So - before I am ashes like those on the floor
And add one more butt as in 'but, just one more'�
I 'll quit
That's it

Want to comment on this Poetry? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Poetry and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...