To place the brown stick within ones mouth
To inhale the sticky smog
To make pretty lips, become burnt, crusted
When it enters the cave on your face
Do you know what you are doing?
Sure it’s fun at the time
With your mates and all
But how many years have you taken away from yourself
How much of your life will you never see?
Don’t forget the side affects…
The stagnant touch upon ones tongue
The swamp like taste
The urge to cough, splutter, spit.
It goes away, but was it really all that enjoyable
Would you do it again, and why?
It doesn’t even make you high
And do you even know what’s in it?
The cold lung cancer
The strike of strokes
The smokers cough, yellow eyes
Bad breath and unbelievable abuse
That fag.
Stephen Beckett
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/that-fag/
