One cigarette after another.
The room, shrouded in smoke.
It's far too cold to open a window.
So now what do I do?
Naturally, I just turn out the light.
If I can't see the smoke, It's not there.
Still, I can see the glowing ember in the mirror.
Illuminating my face with each puff.
It's like a firefly is flitting,
From my bedside,
Up to my mouth.
Ahhhhhh, the smooth burn of the tobacco.
For a solitary moment, I feel no stress.
It's almost as if I'm free again.
I sit, just appreciating the feeling.
My lungs filling with that beautiful, delicious poison.