Cigarette smoke?

So tell me, Lucy, is that smoke?
I’m just a prostrate lying bloke.
I sense nicotine dust fire.
Bandaged. Blind. Bed-ridden. Liar.

Cigarettes are not your thing.
Billiard balls break cat’s toy string.
Playful pussy in my mind.
As fetal constraints throb and grind.

Lucy says: “Sorry. Forgot.”
Didn’t see me? That says a lot.
Cancer stick put out in sink.
Brings me back glass: fizzy drink.

Two whole days with nowt to do.
Do tell tales or I’ll be blue.
Do it or I’ll sniff some glue
Do dirty protest with my poo.

“Oh, alright!” Lucy agrees.
I celebrate with mighty sneeze.
My fizzy drink splashes her knees.
Short circuits tube of bumble bees.

That smarties tube was her best friend.
Loved forever in the end.
Gareth Hunt to her gold blend.
Broken batteries? Must mend.

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