Pall Malls Are Freedom

   Menthol madness kills the sadness like the morning sun kills the moon. Gentle wind massages the face and beard as ska music completes the mood. The sky is bright and cloudless, who needs to sing the blues with the mellowness of spring? Birds sing as the chorus of life takes its tole on the cruel winter wind. Oh please sweet menthol mint, take me to the outdoor tropics. Iced tea lemonade in a soda can, everything is quiet, generic and bland with a touch of excitement pulsating through my neutral hands. God of sun and light, make this atheist's future bright! Stone cold, seashell rainbow table warm and bright, filled with light; won't you rescue me from the night? Black jacket covered in holes, burning my skin and soul, care to take a spring time stroll? No time for stress, danger, anger, fear or self-loathing when the flowers in the garden are growing.
    A two-by-four prison in the backyard cures ruthless criticisms and jeers, bewildering trolls and overly critical peers. Wallet empty without despair, I hope the day never ends! Here, money is not an issue but an object of deception and distraction. Attention to finances is a math problem with nothing but subtraction, adding to the negativity and taking away from the positive distractions. Sunglasses on face, ready to leave this place in the mindset of nirvana, Colorado is just another name for the Bahamas. Soda can covered in a pornographic sleeve, I hope I never have to leave. The kingdom of Marlboro topples as Pall Mall barely follows the popular cigarette trend. An entire day with Pall Mall menthols, I'd rather spend, because the price range of Marlboros and Camels make unsatisfied smokers such as myself tear and bend our dollars. My cigarette case decorated with ace of spades is the only place my Pall Mall menthols belong. The intensity of each fatty I blow, another one of my problems a cigarette stole.
    Cigarette one feels like my sadness is done, the second makes it impossible not to have fun, the third one lifts the curse and the fourth one feels like a second birth. The smell of smoke is a source of pride, leaving me thankful for the sweet ride. Lord knows the truly blessed are the ones that suck and blow (on a cigarette I mean). Lawn chair, messy hair, zero cares. That's the way life is meant to be lived, says this smoker, sucker and blower. Better do it while it's still spring and summer, before it gets colder.