The dark waters
Our parents forced us into.
Out of the comfort
Into the cruelty of sentience.
Lost among running, rambling
And the faint murmur of something more.
We seek safety
In every way possible
Only to find again &
That there is no where to hide.
We wear clothes to cover our shame
But know that our fragile bodies
Lie just beneath the surface.
We wear smiles to cover the pain
To the same effect.
Grasping forward in the darkness
We may find a l**, or an arm,
or a mind to hold onto.
But then again...
We might not.
So...cigarettes have inspired some of my best work. Go figure.
Lately I’ve felt so empty inside,
So I’ve filled myself up with smoke.
Butts of cigarettes long since past
Stack up like walls around me.
Tendrils of smoke drift lazily upward.
The stale scent of cigarettes cling
To the walls of my living room.
The smoke is swept away from
The tip of my cigarette by the fan in the window,
And the gray cloud seems to dance in the light of morning,
Dispersing into uncertain shapes as each particle
Hits the walls or the ceiling.
A pile of ashes builds like a mountain
In the ashtray on my lap.
The mountain sits sternly opposing the world,
Until I shift uncomfortably
And the mountain crumbles before me.
It’s destruction only accentuates the
Mortality that haunts me.
Smoke in celebration of life,
Ashes in rememberance of death.
-Smoke On The Water-
Co-author: William Charles
We have nothing more to do with our lives
So let’s just keep plugging these cigarettes into our mouths,
And as our bodies inflate from the smoke
We can complain about the problems of our decaying society and discuss
How the clouds now billowing out of our ears
Are metaphorical representations
Of the water seeping in through the holes in our roof.