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I Smoke Rollies.

I smoke rollies. You know,
Rolled Cigarettes; and do you know?
How you get those little bits of
Tobacco? And you inhale them,
And it feels like you want to
Vomit? That tiny piece, particles of
Herb, of vegetation, bitter and irritable
Angry and growing at the back of your
Throat; the icky tingly feeling
The feeling of aggravated
Irritation.

You wouldn’t know if you didn’t
Smoke.

But anyways,
When I feel that little
Piece of Tobacco meet my lips
I Spit. I spit it out,
In a stream of saliva
Like a waterfall of distaste
Flowing from between my
Lips.
And you know how those
Little bits of Tobacco are
Unexpected? You never know
When you’ll over-look One
And have to endure the

Discomfort?

So I spit. Constantly.
I am constantly spitting
Out those imaginary Strips of Tobacco,
Perhaps in expectance
Of some-thing;
Some-thing Real. So
I spit all the Time.
I spit even when I’m
Not smoking.
You wanna know some-thing?

I think my life is like that little piece of Tobacco.

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