Death-stick.

A chunk of your life

Goes with every smoke;

A single puff; is equal to a knife

Killing you, poke by poke.

Every single thin shaft

Is quite the same as a nicotine mace;

Distances you from the life-raft,

Enclosing you in a tar-ridden case.

When was the last time your house-folk

Were able to talk to you without a cough?

Were able to love you without a choke?

Were able to embrace you without a held-in breath?

 

You can't be more wrong,

When you think it's 'cool';

You're singing your own death-song,

Drowning in your own pool.

Save your life while you can,

(Or the bit that's still left of it).

Stop tossing yourself around on the pan,

You'll get burned when you least expected it.