Sarcasm, Meet Smoking

I love it when people smoke... especially for the sole purpose of looking "cool." There's just something... "cool"... about flaunting your drawn-out suicide... about letting your friends and family watch as you poison yourself. And the fact that you can't deal with day-to-day life without chemicals and nicotine makes you seem all the more amazing. "Look at her! Look at him!" the crowds will whisper. "See how they cope by escaping the stress we foolishly deal with on our own by altering the chemical balance of their brain. Why aren't we cool enough to do that?" 

My favorite part, though, I must admit, is being around these amazing people. You walk by them, and their poisonous exhalations engulf you, giving you a rare insight into their world of coolness. It surrounds you like a warm, smoky blanket, filling your eyes, nose, lungs. But I suppose I'm not cool enough to be accepted into this elite group; by the time I leave their presence, my eyes are watering, sinuses burning, and I'm just hacking away. I can't handle the awesomeness. But I suppose that's just the way it goes.

This overall aura of awesomeness rubs off on possessions, too. Their clothes, bags, cars... entire houses!... are permanently stamped with their signature. And, if you just so happen to borrow a sweatshirt from them, you will give off your own - slightly dampened, for it's only secondhand - aura of coolness. Lucky! Oh, I wish I had a boyfriend who smoked so his coolness would rub off on me!

Not that stale...

So I started forming this poem a couple of days ago...or maybe it was almost a week ago? I don't remember. It was raining, but that isn't exactly extremely helpful in this case. Anyway, I started making this poem, but then I forgot about it for a while. A few minutes ago I remembered and wrote it all out, adding a couple things here and there. And this one doesn't rhyme either, but I don't care. I think it sounds better this way, like it's not trying to hard to be amazing. I don't like it when my poems are posers. By the way, I realize this poem has an emo-esque feel to it, but don't worry, I'm not emo, or depressed, or whatever. Anyway, here it is:

Why is it when rain

Washes away my world,

Drowning my cheer

In a pool of tears,

The vibrant cheer

Of moments before

Smeared on my living canvas,

Why is it that

I turn my face

Up to the sky?

These tears of regret

From the sky

For what they've done

Clear my mind

Of its melancholy.

The drip, the drop,

The plip plip plop,

The drops that graze my cheeks.

They kiss my lashes,

My nose, my lips,

Whispering regrets.

They run down my skin,

Caressing my face,

Caring, consoling,

More alive than any friend.