Who is the slave
Who is the slaver
Says the cigarette to its master
Is it me
without me would shiver
Who is the consumed
Who is the consumer
Says the smoke to the lungs
Like the autumn leaves
the tail end of his cigarette reddens deep like cherry lipstick.
drown in the sound of sorrow while the sirens blow.
Aware of all, willowing in the sun of tomorrow, he inhales nonetheles