luck is green smokey skin. smokey taste. smokey eyes. smokey hair.
does that mean you're on fire somewhere?
birdmad watch the paper burn and the ashes form a cone with a glowing red center

tendils like ghosts in the autumn air

deep breath, exhale watch it fly away
bethany why is there smoke on the site page? 020506
][ as the room filled with smoke, I found myself, as usual,wondering why I do, and why I don't

I won't one day, but for now, I will.
argo We were two of the oldest people in the club (excluding the old guys with white hair and cabbie hats) and we seemed somehow to be the only ones smoking. 030425
Cathexis smoke curling up from your lips
you smirk, wind chasing your fingers down as they throw a charred cigarette to the ground, end red with angry fire
your arms come around me
gray skin coming into contact with my own
i try to pull away from your lips
but the blazing fire that was heated passion has dulled, leaving the smoke to choke me
psychobabe i smoked so much last night...and it suxz cuz i know someday its going to kill me. But when things suck as much as they do right now, this seems to be the only thing for me to do to feel better... 030801
misstree my standing self-destruction,
sometimes each drag is as sweet
as the touch of the teeth of a boi whose name you don't know,
and sometimes it's the
bitter company you keep
en route to a surrender parley,
and sometimes it's just
the monster that keeps you in its cage.
eatpaper i want to feel that comfortable paper tube between my fingers. lit and smoldering. that first drag of the day is heavenly. 030801
guitar_freak so frustrating. I am around smokers all the time and I fell into it. Now I can't quit and all the people in my life who care about me the most push me away because of it. They rag on me everyday as if that would HELP or something, but it only makes me want another. So today I was reading the paper and it talked about it is a rather interesting website and for some states it is free because of tobacco lawsuits. I'm checking it out. 030804
Heffable Horralump If you really wanted to quit, you would. Some cats are just so weak. Death by cigarettes is only another form of suicide. Some deny it. Others merely suspect it. I embrace it. The only proper way to defeat desire is to amalgamate with it. Meet it head on.

I want to bathe in smoke. Taste it on the brain. I roll my synaptic energy with clove and fine aged tobacco. I let wave after wave of perfumed aroma be the filter to my mind. Everyone dies, baby, but few hold their death in a cold dry hand and set it ablaze in magnificent glory.
misstree really is cantankerous today. heffable, i want to punch you in the face for your first comment. do you understand the concept of addiction? it's not a matter of wanting to stop; you're not fighting cigarettes; you're fighting yourself... and a part of you that has quite a stranglehold on the old brainbox.

but, the rest of it was glorious, and elicits my applause whether i like it or not. the only thing that's really fatal is being alive; cigarettes and bullets just speed the process, to different degrees. someone_somewhere said, "i will not tiptoe through life simply to make it to the other end safely." sieze the day, and sieze every damn thing you can lay hands on in the meantime.
silentbob ben folds five

Leaf by leaf, page by page
Throw this book away
All the sadness, all the rage
Throw this book away
Rip out the binding, tear the glue
All of the grief we never even knew
We had it all along
Now it's smoke

The things we've written in it
Never really happened
All the things we've written in it
Never really happened
All of the people come and gone
Never really lived
All the people come have gone
No one to forgive - smoke

We will never write a new one
There will not be a new one
Another one, another one

Here's an evening dark with shame
Throw it on the fire
Here's the time I took the blame
Throw it on the fire
Here's the view we didn't speak
It seemed for years and years
Here's a secret
No one will ever know the reasons for the tears
They are smoke

Where do all the secrets live
They travel in the air
You can smell them when they burn
They travel in the air
Those who say the past is not dead
Stop and smell the smoke
You keep on saying the past is not dead
Come and smell the smoke
You keep saying the past is not even past
You keep saying ...
We are smoke ... smoke ... smoke
misstree i'm normally anti-lyric, but that was good shtuff. 031217
guitar_freak I really love to smoke a hookah... it is a great relaxing time to share with friends. Appropriation kicks ass. 031217
Y? whyare you anit-lyric..usually that is. 040716
mademoiselle oddly acquired habit

in my case, at least
falling_alone puffed and sputtered.
thick and black.
toxic and smothering.
swirling and killing.
slowly clawing at that hole in the sky.
tilt I'm trying to stop. 1 and a half days so far. 051011
tilt it didn't work. maybe later, once the damage has set in. 051108
TheJunketeer I stare sideways across the crowded patio.

I watch her lips, narowing my eyes, making them small and hopefully inconspicuous in their gazing.

You say something to me and I nod without breaking my focus. It's doesn't matter. You keep talking. You words are swallowed up by the rustle of leaves and the creak and swing of lighted chinese lanters.

My eyes beg for a blinking but I stare on. The world is a blur of noise and color. The room hums. Vibrates. Save one pair of full lips wraped delicately around a smoldering cigarette. It's mesmorizing really.

The lips part and release. Slow exhale.

A single, snaking tendril of smoke winds its way from those too too red stained lips and, for the briefest of moments, color fades. The world is awash in grays and whites, muted blues and pillbox greens. The smoke curls and dips: a single hipnotic dance as it slides against the dark of night and disapates into little more than a haze. It is a quiet, private dance, this smoke rippling through the black and gray. Shivering. Seductive, even, for those who care to recognize the allure.

For the slightest of moments I can feel myself slipping, lost in the lips and the winding and the raw appeal. Then, I start as your fingertips graze my knuckles. You seem puzzled and follow my gaze seeking the source of my apparent rapture.

You groan. "What a disgusting habit!" You shake your head in a way that is at once both matronly and rather childish. "Don't they know it's killing them from the inside out?"

You look expectantly at me. I shiver, shaking of the memory of my trance, and barely meet your eyes. My gaze is steady and listless. My mind rolls back to those few blissful moments wrapped in the curl and seduction, the grays and blues.

I search your eyes and find them vacant, disinterested as they look through me. But I feel the brush of your fingertips on my skin and my pulse races in spite of itself. How can something so beautiful, so seductive, so charismatically charged be potentially deadly? A smile crawls across my lips; I already know the answer.

In the end, the things we love always are.
what's it to you?
who go