He may forget his phone,
But never his cigarette lighter.
The stench of weed long replaced his cologne,
He is a peace maker, never a fighter.
Weed and him just clicked,
He doesn’t even suspect he is an addict.
Everywhere she goes,
At her behind people peek,
Her trademarks are minuscule, see-through clothes,
Never get nigh her if your heart is weak.
She is not one though
She dresses like a whore.
They’re never sober,
Their pants sag, weighed down by beer
Bottles. They’re young thought look older.
To make their minds clear,
All they need is but a pint,
Else they’ll remain a sorry sight.
Unleashing a barrage of obscenities
Is to them as normal a greeting as any.
They curse, mimicking celebrities.
They need no advice, they are too brainy.
Too bad they cannot see,
They’re slowly turning into addicts.
HERE ARE MY OTHER POEMS:
