I Can'T Be Bothered Poem by Alessandra Liverani
I Can'T Be Bothered
Why don't smokers think like this?
I can't be bothered smoking cigarettes
It really is a pain
Sometimes you've got to huddle out there
In the cold and freezing rain
I'm sick of what I have to do
Always carrying them around
And then feeling tense and anxious
When the rotten sticks can't be found
Oh they are such a nuisance
Stinking up my clothes and hair
And they cost a lot of money too
It just isn't fair
They really aren't worth a toss
There's nothing in it for me
Why don't I just throw them out?
And start to feel so free
Why don't smokers think like that?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/19/2024 5:24:45 AM # 1.0.0.1119
I could think like that, but freedom from my deathsticks is the last thing I'd want. Every puff I take ensures I stay enslaved - so I keep puffing. It may cost most of my money, it may be killing me, but I must disagree, it smells wonderful. Cigarettes are my life, they're worth standing out in the cold for. May cigarettes bring me an early grave, with a painful ending, sending me to the next world - where my faith in tobacco will be rewarded, an afterlife filled with eternal chain smoking.