Inhale, exhale— I make a long trail, Like writing the lines of which you love to read, A call of the aching heart, Are seen through the words my soul would bleed. With my hard work, your mind I feed.
And I think about it— life, So I pick one, straighten it up, And ignite the inspiration coming from within me, As I show you the light through paper, pen, and nicotine, In return, you fuel my perseverance, And give meaning to my existence.
Such a long trail it is— life, I think to myself as I puff off a trail of smoke into the night, The smoke of which is a lot like life, Long all at once— and gone in one blink.
Dear All Smoking Writers, And of course non writers who smoke.