"Last pack," written on the previous twelve;
- though, it never seems to be the truth.

I am locked in this never-ending realm;
- one where the carbon clouds are abused.

My mind does not wish to inhale the smoke
- but my body needs it so severely.

It causes me to hack, cough, and to choke;
- ay - it is killing me slowly, clearly.

All the people around keep telling me
- "you haven't a reason to be stressed,"
- an' "can't you see you've been nothing but bless'd
- as of late?"