Quitting

Today I smoked my

first

last

cigarette.

I tucked it between my lips

as a

mother does

each night.

I pulled the sweetest,

softest drag

and the smoke mingled with

my sadness and my

exhaustion and

my defeat.

Released in foggy grey,

these feelings floated

to the surface

like dust

blown off a tomb

That

first

last

cigarette ended

too soon.

So I lit another

and made myself a hazy halo

and crowned myself with disease

and in a destructive moment

I was empty and

I was pleased.

And I think this

first

last

cigarette,

pouring out of me in streams,

singed my pain,

made me *****

and clean.

And I said

as I smoked

my

first

new

cigarette.

I quit.

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