Smoke to Die

“Y’all smoke to enjoy it.  I smoke to die.” –John Green, Looking for Alaska

Fuck. Fuck.
Fffffhhh.  Uhhh. KKKKKKhhhh.

Fuck life, fuck love, fucking lust.
Just…must thrust
through rotten trust, cosmic dust, angel dust – disgust.

I cussed.

Bit, bite, bitten, battered, broke.
Hold hands up, defend from choke –

I spoke the joke that came out as croak
I spat the smoke as cough evokes

desire.

Trumped.

Stomach pumped, slumped grump
called me the chump when I was bumped

To third class.

What an ass.

Tear gas, harass the string bass
players en masse, das
auto
– the last pass, cut glass
for our grass

To burn.

Burning taste in my mouth,
tongue taste, heading south:
due south, deep south
body buzz, head rush word of mouth
to cheek blush.

Crush crush crush

Flush.  The Shit.  Scrub brush,
the guy’s a tool, what a lush,
but anyway: start to gush

Hush, hush.

I’ve prayed for death
she’s off the meth,
sudden death, loss of breath
unanswered prayers – make me Macbeth?

Shakespeare – now they jeer,
while I drink beer, mouth washed – fear
of smoke, smear, sneers from peers
I tried to steer clear and hope this year

Is not mere-
ly here so you can
reappear.

Never again, old man,
will I be less than, plain-Ann –
your game plan?

Fucked.

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