STOP

I often wonder
If anyone will still be
A nicotine lover in the next century.
Adamantly addicted
To tobacco sticks
Riddled with cancer catalysts.
And a bad smell of degeneration
Over generations.

The dedication of the following
Is truly amazing
As multitudes happily partake in
An international lottery
Of smoking related diseases.
And where millions invest
In poor health, bad breath
And a painfully slow death.

While brownish-yellow stains
On fingers shine,
Jaundiced by the toxic linger
Of tar on the outside,
Signs of the poisonous sludge through lungs
Is punctuated by
A hacking cough so strong,
That it might spew forth
A tough withered shard
From an organ on its last gasp.

Not at all glamorous,
Dear Smoker,
When you're gobbing phlegm
In the bathroom sink.
And it's contrary
To how cool
You think it must be
Dragging on exhaust fumes heavily.

So, before the moment
You see your blood
Contaminate that mucous glob,
Or feel it clot and clog
Another hardened artery;
And long before the moment
Your doctor will see,
You know you really REALLY should

Stop.

by KizWiz
©May 2012