Finding The Right Smoking Room Poem by Not Long Left

from leather seated,
ash tray- crome plated
air humidified rooms,
to,
half eaten, grandma,
piss stained seats,
and yellow stress-
smoke exhaled,
walls,
i have frequented.
When the nicotine,
has knocked,
on the door of my
thoughts to many times.

whilst sitting there,
i have heard such stories,
i have smoked a pack
of ten in one sitting,
just to hear the finale,
mothers, fathers,
priests, lawyers,
soldiers, drug dealers,
robbers, benefit fraudsters,
every type of man women and beast,
sucking and blowing,
in sweet smoky unison,
but only one room,
has got me smoking
a pack of twenty, without
leaving, to get a sewage,
tasting cofee,
i was on a visit to a
pychiatric unit,
and in that tiny,
window smashed,
drug stashed,
cabin,
there was heaven,
and there was hell.
each story that was
told, was trisha,
oprah, ricki lake,
mutiplied by a million,
i had never felt such at ease.