Addiction for me is sold in stores, five dollars a box.
Wrapped in plastic, packed tight with a hermetically sealed lock.
I got the warnings, but listened to none.
My Mother said no, and the Surgeon General himself gave me one.
Drug. Abuse. Resistance. Education.
Have I learned nothing?
My first encounter with a hypocrite.
I saw her teach me the lesson, but I smelled the smoke on her breath.
It’s a smell, by now, I was use to.
For addiction runs through my blood.
As sure as my body needs to move,
And my stomach needs food.
My ears need music, and my lungs smoke.
The day does not begin until I light up for the first time.
I have yet to smoke, so this poem does not rhyme.
Just speaking of it, and I took a break just to light up.
Now my day can begin.
—-tell me if its good. text me please!