NOTE!!!!!!!! THIS POEM IS MEANT TO BE READ ALOUD TO GET THE FULL, AHEM, BENEFIT OF THE RHYME SCHEME. ;-)
I SMOKEDISCLAIMERS: I
don't own them. Marvel does.
SUMMARY: Slightly, er, in your
face poem from Remy's point of view. Notice the singular lack of an
accent. Remy explains why he went up to 80 a day after getting back
from Antarctica.
PAIRING: Well, Remy and Bobby are an established
couple in this, but on the verge of breaking up over Remy's, ahem,
habits. ;-) Remy/Rogue past relationship references.
RATING:
PG-13. All the naughty words are 'bleeped' out. Well, the naughtiest
ones, anyway.
ARCHIVE: um...I don't see why anyone would want
this, but, sure, go ahead if you want. Just drop me a line saying
where.
FEEDBACK: I live for it.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I've got a very firm 'anti-smoking' outlook on life. g Nonetheless, I enjoyed the various pro-smoking stories on the list. I just had to be depressed about it, too, though. ;-) This isn't meant to imply that smokers have a death wish... just that Remy does. ;-)
DEDICATION: Erykah, for her fantastic 'smoke' poem... very visceral, very tantalising, and I need her to post it here... g
I
confess to it now -
I smoke.
I inhale, smile,
Burn, hope to
choke.
They all shake their heads
And call me suicidal
-
Yeah, sure, I'll have a wife and kids,
Spend the rest of my
life at a fing recital.
Can you see me there?
God, I
hope not.
If you could,
I'd off myself like a shot.
Smoking
is comforting,
Welcome, familiar.
All the things you people are
not -
And you wonder why I loathe to be near ya.
Nag, nag,
nag,
That's all you ever do,
Complain about my life, my
attitude -
Is it okay if I breathe, is that okay with
you?
Comments on my clothes,
Comments on my smoking,
Do
I have any taste?
Do I realise that I'm choking?
Don't I
read the warnings?
Tomorrow I'll learn
To read them and their
faces
As I watch the filter burn.
I do not want to be
saved
From this blissful insanity -
Are we not all allowed
At
least one vanity?
Smoking is mine -
I love to watch the
smoke curl,
Pale, greyish, pure
As mother of pearl.
The
others - non-smokers -
Do not understand
They think in my own
death
I'm having a hand.
Perhaps it is so -
But is that
not my own choice?
Aren't I an adult?
Don't I have a voice?
If
I choose to smother
My lungs in my chest
They should accept
that
And give it a rest!
Please, stop nagging me
About
everything I do -
And yes, dear Bobby,
You do it too!
I
know you mean well
And I know you are worried,
But please, stop
turning this trifle
Into something quite so torrid.
I don't
need a shrink
And I don't need to talk -
What I do is my
business,
So go take a fing walk!
Yes, I am angry
At
all the noses butted in
I didn't realise that a couple of
ciggies
Were a cardinal sin.
Yes, even Rogue sticks her
nose in
And comments on the way that I live my life -
"Btw,
chere, I found this in my back -
Didn't you miss your favourite
knife?"
Yes, I am angry,
Yes, I need space.
"What
gives you the right
To even show your face?"
To try
and make amends
To try and be my friend
That's all they do, day
and night
Not understanding that this, I can't mend.
You
don't get over guilt like this,
Over betrayal this deep -
Your
only real option
Is a deep, dreamless sleep.
"The
smoke gives me peace -
It's a promise with every breath
That it
is bringing me
A little closer to death."
"Why
are you crying?
When you left me, I didn't see you sob -
Don't
worry, dear Rogue, you didn't kill me
But I'll be glad to finish
the job."
She left. Then Scott came to see me,
To talk
night and day,
His perfect features contorted
Into an
expression almost fey -
Scared for me, perhaps,
Scared for
Bobby's sake -
"Don't worry, Scott.
I won't be needing a
beautiful wake."
"I'm sure that my smoking won't
leave much
Of me, when it's finally done,
There won't be a
body left to weep over
Nothing left behind - no wife, no
son."
"Nothing but memories to show
That I was
even here -"
And that is when Scott's pretty face
Twisted
in pain and fear.
"Will you miss me, Scott,
When I am
finally gone?
I know that Bobby will -
I know he dreads to be
alone."
"Promise to look after him
To stop him
from smoking.
That's some bad shit -
I don't want the boy
choking."
"Then why do you smoke?"
He
asked with a wry smile,
Probably hoping
He could stall for a
while.
"I told Rogue before,
And I'm telling you now
-
I know you want me dead,
But I get to choose how."
He
shook his head, then,
Told me he would stay with me
Until I
believed him,
Until I could see
That they meant me no
harm.
I tried to dissuade him,
To get him to leave -
"I
don't want you here, Slim,
I don't want you near me -"
I
sighed. " Please go -"
But he did not listen,
And
would not close the door.
Whatever I said to him, whatever I
did,
His resolve wouldn't crack.
"Oh, Scott..." That
is why, next year,
I'm taking up smack.
fin.
