slow death.

You ask me why

I still sit here

smoking

if it’s gonna kill me.

And I tell you,

my darling,

that with every dying cigarette

I die a little too.

Because if I have it

between my two fingers

I have peace;

a silent state of mind

that keeps me calm –

deluded self-confidence;

and the cheapest antidepressant

I can legally find.

V.