Smoldering cylinder of sorrow

Ready to ignite,
I stress upon sight.
Calmly cupping around the cig,
Tantamount to a touchy twig.
A sharp, sudden, sporadic spark,
I'm forced to furiously hark.
Clear-cut, metallic clink of combustion,
Horizontal volcanic eruption.
Delicately docked on his lips,
I feel a darkness, an eclipse.
Swell inhale, gale exhale. Air braille.
A putrid perfume pounds me pale.
Too towering and observably overpowering,
Stop devouring me; confined in the corner, cowering.
Crucified in the company of clouds constructed of cyanide,
Self ceased, soul deceased. Inner death, shipwrecked. Suicide by the seaside.
Vicious, vile vapor,
Please, can thou taper.
Rather whizz off a cliff,
Than sniff a dizzy whiff.
Encompassing essence of extraordinary area,
Bhutan to Bulgaria, on the brink of malaria.
Like a proud parrot perched between his paws,
I hold my huff, a perpetual pause.
Powerful puffs of poison
Provoke his whoops to worsen.
Action repeats.
Constant defeats.

Spicy strength of its sour scent,
That swamps my snout. Circumvent?
Yes. Seven-hundred percent.
Stomach-churning smoke of stench,
That of a World War I trench.
Translate–quelle horreur–oui, french.
Saltier than smelling salts,
That slithers through sealed tight vaults.
Strange asphyxia of steam,
That surges, travels upstream.
Ample reasons I'm annoyed.
All, I actively avoid.

He lives, still, like a captive craving the capsule of enslavement,
Several occasions, stooping to scouring along the pavement.
Fully pledged to the paper tube of pathological pleasure,
I pity, as well as pray, for these poor prey, far beyond measure.
Fair well foe. First, fix this firmly in thy filthy mind forever:
Proclamation! Printed on passion and pain. Ever endeavor.
Published with pride. A profound promise intended for whomever.
Come, follow this: my vow to never.