catered cigarette

I inhale the smoke, the smoke inhales me
the cigarette flickers in my hand, and then into my palm
the sensation is quivering, unjust, foul play
i can't sense a minute of the self righteous day
the mothball hides in the closet
hoping one day it will be found among the fur dress clothes and jackets
it is a quiet mothball, then there's nothing left
trying time to find hope in time of lesser causality
what causes this emotion?
how come we never faced it before in our own time
sitting down the stairs of 5th avenue, the man asks for the cigarette
i don't have any, i lie, for a catered smoke is hard to find
remember the time you don't remember anyways
oi, the punks and the droogs at your doorstep ready to play
iron in our blood, flowing through our veigns
the monument falls over face first, fuck stalin
the fear has overcome me, for i am not scared anymore
too many the's not enough if's
my lisping foul mouth unwell to be said
have i donkey'd out of reality?
where is the goal and what do we achieve in this moment
just smoke says the teevee i cannot watch anymore
there are whispers in my door shed for without it we are unkind and not merry
back to inhaling the cigarette
the smoke is still inhaled, the smoke still inhales me