Thread: the smoking section

my cigarette is burning, and then snow is ice,
the world is turning itching with lice.
with a rumble and scurry out go the lights
capturing the days in unyielding nights.

my lungs contract suffering in toxic prayer
wisps of thin vapor make shapes of air;
like a cold touch lifting the flesh from your heart
this apt villain conceals its art.

through guise of pleasure our vices snare
claiming everything yet being costly in price.

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i was just so high and happened to be smoking, it's weird actually sitting down and writing lines with the intent of making a poem.