I think of last cigarettes

They last in anticipation of what?
Death? Better health?
To quit smoking or quit living
I have tried and failed at  both
Won't you trust me to inhale your carcinogens when I return? Will my return revitalize my feelings for you?
Or will what has become a smoothed-over ceremony in my lungs turn to a harsh fit of coughing that tears us apart?
Either way, sooner, later, an end will come.
But that makes it all the more intimate.
Maybe that's the idea of last cigarettes.
to stare the cancer of doubt in the eyes
and bathe in sparks of vitality-
to take part in a comforting regiment
and forget for a few breaths that the end is eminent