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An Observer of Life in Bad Poetry

Commentary on Daily Life, Politics and Sports

Category

addiction

Don’t Bogart That E-cig

Don’t Bogart that joint, pass it over to me

In the film Easy Rider the group Fraternity of Man did decree

One can picture Bogie cigarette dangling from his lips in a melancholy film noir

Slouching against a bar, dinner jacket and sleepy eyes fresh from the ingenue’s boudoir

Somehow the impact of the scene would lose effectiveness if Bogart disappeared in a water vapor mist

The movie world would never see when a kiss is just a kiss

Disguising itself as a way to kick tobacco the e-cig industry created a huge income craze

Appealing not only for the buzz but also the cool factor the ad business portrays

Ignore the fact the e-juice may have been assembled by a profiteer at his kitchen table

And to make it look legit slap on a counterfeit label

Today there are expensive devices that produce those euphoric vapors

Gone are the paranoid days at the mini mart buying the J B rolling papers

Just knowing the entire U.S . Intel community was outside hiding in the kudzu vines

With their sniper scopes trained on your back while peering through the Georgia pines

Many of the present day vaping products sold contain unregulated juice

Pretending lung damage happens to the other guy makes for a risky calculated excuse

Producing a current potential lesson on how to whistle as a walk away tease

“You know how to whistle don’t you? You just put your lips together and wheeze.”

Social Media’s Crushing My Soul

Leaving the Doc’s sterile office, the exam paper left streaks on my rear
My lethargy and depression seemed symptomatic and I hoped not severe
My daily routine seemed aimless, what were goals were now dismissed
I was sleepwalking through life, working and eating but only to exist
Friendships seemed hollow, pleasure was fleeting as the world seemed a brownish gray
Hopefully the doctor could read something in my blood sample and right my dismay
I couldn’t check my personal page, look at my Twitter account or Instagram
As everyone’s got it better, has more followers, and about me not give a damn
In the past six months I’ve been friended by only four people that I don’t know
I liked something I saw so the friend request arrived to keep all status quo
The buzzing in my mind has grown louder reminding me of my inadequacy
And now I fear the persistent noise can’t be diagnosed clinically
The alcohol, the drugs, prescribed or not had only opened doors to nowhere
My tiny unremarkable life has become an unrelenting nightmare
No one notices, no one cares. The nurse only wanted my copay
So the doc can tell me nothing is wrong and to put my phone away.
But I can’t put it down, my cell has become me, I’m it’s identity
It’s my voice to all the other voices shouting at the globe’s inhumanity
It’s my umbilical cord to others meager triumphs and a channel to their hatred
The short video clips and bits of text all seem extreme, common sense negated
My thoughts begin to tumble, foreign voices and color explosions swirled
This device has become my addiction, an obsession in my private netherworld
Irrational thoughts of fame and glory have become a daily norm
My indifference coupled with lost souls’ recorded conflicts becomes a perfect storm
I’m feeling the need to end it all and find peace from the innate turmoil
Not to be understood,  my resolution makes sense to me and my mentor the phone, stays loyal

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