Cheap Thrill Just Like a Cigarette

.

You started with a spark,
So special,
Because,
It’s something that we do,
But we can’t.

The shadows of your pride danced in the air with rapture,
You were shining brightly,
Without you knowing,
Only when the spotlights shove you their light in your face,

As you siphon gasps of momentarily hyperpretensious awe,
Your blaring long farts were sweet,
Because they dressed you up in nicotine,
Nicotine you never own,



The people who dress you up then tells you to blare some more,
They need to breathe an air of satisfaction for the sake of the spotlight denied fellas who see them as their gentleman and heroes.
Just do it,
More nicotine for you,
you think,
A medicine for you,
A boost of nicotine,
Becoming a part of the picture, won’t pass,
You can siphon a deeper awe,
From more than a few drunk mouth full of the now and then on top of their lungs screaming punks,
Who flicks and tosses you,
While you are keeping your game up
Hyperpretending punk,
They found a better one,
Don’t forget,
You are an accident,
You are like a high school dropout,
No class,
You are a cheap cigarette.
Don’t forget,
You were never in their game.

TO BE WHAT YOU MUST YOU MUST GIVE UP WHAT YOU ARE

She’s left a weight on a chair,

All joints and flesh on her body hang loosely,

Yet, she cannot deny her thighs are twisting below her.

It is not over when everyone is clapping,

She must harden up when she must

And give up all hopes when she must.

This is do or die

She mustn’t let anything touch her

She cannot deny the fact that,

Her teachers’ responsibilities are hanging on her chest wide placard

Making her sink deeper into the chair, breathless,

Her crystal clear tinted spectacles reflected no black ink,

Her face was eaten by proposition filled monsters,

Her red necktie is tied to her kindergarten smart reader,

And her vest absorbed all the light shining from all her other school friends.

Her mother pulled her pony tail so tight her back is straight even when she sinks
into the,

Nationally desired hot musical chair.

Question is,

Is she still satisfied when her spelling turn is really all over?

RUSH

RUSH
Into my veins, hold my heart,
Close my eyes,
Unclench my fist please,
Stop that massive stench,
they are marching
on the streets,
Sob,
Sob,
Oh..
…. Let me be a cancer at work as I stride at work free from their pickled pungent sweet sweaty revolutionary stench,Let your adult bland cotton olfactory candy sift through my flesh hanging me on a still headache as I mop to the floor, sob, Hold my combustible thoughts; help me fly and step on the higher road for the sake of those whose smell is faint and still sweet,I want your burning staunch stale cotton to wipe my sweaty stench before it emanates, burning all bridges I built in my life.Help me burn the green, red, blue sheets of hope they presented to me in rich pleasant arousing violet scent. Release me.