• The Bipolar Smoke

    I hate it.
    I love it.
    I’m afraid of it.
    I obsessed with it.

    Ever since I’ve seen it
    From my first baby sitter
    To my first fire
    The smell of smoke is something I enjoy

    Though I don’t smoke
    It is a smell I enjoy
    But at the same time
    It’s something I hate

    To my first smoke alarm
    To my first campout
    The thought of smoke
    Made me relax

    But at night
    As I close my eyes
    The memory of smoke
    Made me tense

    As if it came into the room
    I would toss and turn
    Scared to death
    That smoke would get to me

    But for some strange reason
    When I see my friend
    Cig a breath
    I can’t help but feel
    Envious

    I could lie there
    All day
    Every Day
    In a room with smoke

    But the memories
    Of the consequences
    Make me purge
    And shiver all over

    I’m too scared
    To face lung cancer
    I’m too scared
    To face hair loss
    I’m too scared
    To face an early death

    I hate it can kill children
    That even if I don’t smoke
    I can still die from it
    I hate that I’m the same as my dad

    The smell of a pipe
    Made my eyes roll
    All the way
    To the back of my head

    But remembering
    What it did to my friends
    To my family members
    Made me cringe

    Smoke was confusing
    Smoke was destructive
    Smoke was delicious
    Smoke was a turn over

    But most of all
    It had many flaws
    Yet it held physical qualities
    Smoke was bipolar