after the
first cigarette, it all changes. some people hate it and i guess they're
lucky, cause they never smoke again. some people like it alright, but lack some
addictive tendency and though they smoke while they're young, they give it up and are troubled only by headaches and shakes, which
pass and are forgotten. and some of us.. we never come back.
me, i never wanted to. something clicked with
my first drag and i knew that whatever
toxins i might be taking in, whatever irreperable damage i'm causing,
this is me. this is the accessory that makes the outfit,
the mistake that makes the masterpiece - whatever. when i'm
insecure, i hide behind my portable cloud. when i'm elated, i blow out slow fireworks to
celebrate.
i don't care about the
nicotine. it would be hard to quit cold, but the nicotine does not make the cigarette. my hand, back and forth, up and down, the
slow inhale or the quick one, the way a breeze plays with my
smoke once i relinquish it..
that makes the cigarette.
i chose my
vice, and
the thrill ain't gone yet.