Who Is The Master?

When you first light up a fag
It doesn’t taste too good
But you will be its master yet
Indeed you will, you should

For you must be so hip and cool
Like all the other smokers
They are smart and clever people
Not like those other jokers

They’re so smart that they can draw
A fag between their lips
And blow out smoke so easily
While making witty quips

The smoke drawn deeply from the fag
Is noxious, there’s no doubt
And by sheer logic, must be true
It’s noxious what’s blown out

A minor detail, not your concern
What’s crucial’s how you look
You’ve got to breathe it in and out
And not look like you’re crook

Once you can do that, you are like them
That cool and clever crowd
At last, you’ve made it to their world
And you can shout out loud

I can smoke without a choke
I have become its master
But wait a second, I have found
That it became mine faster

by Alessandra Liverani

Comments (1)

I'm glad that cigarettes are my master, leading me and my body down a path of beautiful self destruction. Wheezing lungs, painful coughs, clothes drenched in their lovely scent. I love my master, and will be the best slave I can be.