Who is the slave

Who is the slaver

Says the cigarette to its master

Is it me

Or you


without me would shiver


Who is the consumed

Who is the consumer

Says the smoke to the lungs

Like the autumn leaves

the tail end of his cigarette reddens deep like cherry lipstick.

drown in the sound of sorrow while the sirens blow.

Aware of all, willowing in the sun of tomorrow, he inhales nonetheles

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