Cigarettes

Pass me that cancer stick, and

Push the poison down my throat.

My heart and my breath

Harmonize and synchronize.

Exhale, inhale:

Cyanide to carbon dioxide.

I look down to the floor,

And see pieces of my hair

Curled into a pile,

Spiraling like a wicked web.

I need a cigarette.

Walking to the corner store,

I can barely keep my balance.

The cashier can’t understand a word I say,

So I just point to the red carton:

Two, one for now, one for later.

Now back to that room,

White and square.

The man next to me says,

‘Pass me that cancer stick.’

He looks down at the floor,

And sees pieces of his hair.

I hear his heart and breath

Harmonized and synchronized

As he exhales and inhales

Cyanide to carbon dioxide.

Instead of posting a long rant about why I hate cigarettes, and milking that good ol' quote about how cigarettes kill more Americans than many other leading causes of death COMBINED, and going on and on about how they are plainly a way of institutionalizing people (specifically Americans), I decided to post this pretty short poem. I wrote this a few months ago, probably around the time I drew "Steve," and thought it deserved a nice spot on my blog.

Oh, and just a note, I come from a family of smokers, and have spent much too much of my youth trying to find ways of convincing them to quit. All my attempts have failed.... so far.