We have all of us, long since, died here.
And we are all so very dead, already dead and for so long.
But all the same I'll ask it anyway,
Could I have a cigarette please?
There are too many of us, all of us asking, and all of us at once
But could I have one please?
We were children once.
And some of us were happy.
Me they told me I was sick then, and it hurt.
But now what I want -- and it's all I want -- is a cigarette.
When you give me one I feel the whole meaning of life -
So I wish you'd lay one on me, and it'll be like you love me.
I've got a light - I just want a cigarette and it's all that I can handle.
But do you, does anyone, can you -- do you love me at all?
But I won't ask that.
I'm strange and I'm lost and you are nothing to me.
You go to Hell.
And I'll ask again,
Please give me one.
Copyright 2004 by Diana Strelow.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry 360 with permission of the author.