As I **** this cigarette
my life go's up in smoke,
in clouds of gray and white
some day I'll die of stroke.

If only I would quit
this habit that I have,
my lungs would never rot
all cancerous and scabbed.

And though I know this all,
to my love I still return,
for nicotine I crave for nicotine I yearn.

Take this poem to heart,
and let thy cigarette go,
for dieing of lung cancer
is the slowest death I know.

Annoyance from the brains relased toxins I can't control. Dominance over my mind and soul. Hearing through ears on repeat remembering each peice of food on record. Dieing inside the soul from ratched cycles. ADHD, ADHD, ADHD.
I have it do you?

for centuries they have been around in  every city, village and town
they was known under many different names and yet no two
were ever the same.
they are known as the angels of mercy, also te kind hearted souls
who helped the sick , the dieing , the old.
they see aches, pains and suffering every day while family members
may hide or run away.
they share with the sick , stories. pains and tears
and they wipe away their fears.
their faces may be the last faces that the dieing may see
as they bring them comfort in the life to be.
nurses don't work under doctors , they work as equals with them !
they give them meds and hold their hands to let them know they understand.
the nurses are the soldiers on the battlefields who fight the wars
they are the ones who know the score.
when they have to turn a patient on their side so
that they can clean their behinds and making sure
they have no bedsores before they  walk out the door.
they also have times of joy when they see the birth
of a girl or boy, and of when a patient can walk out the door on their own
because of the caring a nurse has shown.
they are the last stop between healing and dieing
and of this there is no denying.
(C) L . RAMS042715