Light a cigarette?
I’ve given up my last puff.
Puff? Is that what its called now?
It kills me from the inside and still I don’t feel like blaming it,
by calling it smoke. For me it’s a caress, which I don’t find anywhere else.
Smoking is smoking whether you smoke or not…
Still I don’t feel like it.
I still cherish the memory of my last cigarette,
The secure feel of my impending end fading as my fingers dragged it away from my lips.
Right…I know nothing about smoking…
I don’t like the idea of staying not smoking, like I don’t like the idea of me living the long life of a hag.
A lonely hag.
You are not lonely…you have your friends.
Right, is that what you call aquaintances now? Or fellow prisoners? My friends, I’ve traded them away long ago.
But a Cigarette?
The cigarette is bitter but my life is more. Speak of time, and it will go on slow.
With a cigarette I gain more reason to feel it pass away.
It may be bad, but in a way, it’s good for me.
That’s what all smokers say….