When you see someone drag on a cigarette <br />They appear to be feeling great pleasure <br />You would like to get some of that too <br />You want enjoyment in the same measure <br /> <br />But let's do a bit of psychoanalysis <br />How is this pleasure achieved? <br />In a way you couldn't possibly have dreamt of <br />It's a design elaborately weaved <br /> <br />When you first drag on a cigarette <br />It's not something you will adore <br />You're missing out on all the thrills <br />You'll keep trying til you score <br /> <br />You try and try and wonder why <br />The magic just doesn't come <br />But then a new thought enters your mind <br />It starts as just a gentle hum <br /> <br />Nicotine's been in your body for some time <br />Athough you've never had any fun <br />But maybe, just like every other smoker <br />You must continue, or you'll be done <br /> <br />You start to think that once the poison's in <br />It MUST be kept filled to the right elevation <br />You start to worry if it's low <br />If it is, you feel some trepidation <br /> <br />Now comes anxiety, fear and worry <br />That you never had before <br />You drag in deeply, they disappear briefly <br />Oh, the pleasure of being so sure <br /> <br />That your nicotine levels, they're OK <br />It gives you such satisfaction <br />But as soon as they dropp even a little bit <br />You swing right back into action <br /> <br />You must light up no matter what <br />Nicotine is needed, that is clear <br />What did you find in those cigarettes? <br />It wasn't pleasure, it was fear <br /> <br />(Sydney, Australia - 2003)<br /><br />Alessandra Liverani<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/analyse-this/
