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Marred charcoal eyes

Rheumy

Bloodshot

Momentarily stinging with smoke

 

Parched black lips

Deftly

Heavily puffing

Inhaling poison

 

Pale, scarred hand

With nicotine stained fingernails

Lightly tapping

Taking long sensual drags

 

Burning embers fall

On the soiled floor

Of a derelict ruin

A refuge at nightfall

Strewn with ash,

Burnt match sticks and cigarette butts

Note: This poem is a work of fiction. I don’t smoke neither do I think it’s for cowards. I personally am against it but to each his own. 

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