I should be saying
That I'm thankful
For every breath I take
But truthfully
I'm not.

Every time I inhale
It's a long draw
Of a cigarette bud
That isn't mine
Forcing me to wheeze
And cough up the venom
That scorches my lungs

I am cursed
With the longing
To breathe fresh air
And rid myself
Of what I've become so attached to
Just because it's not my nicotine
Doesn't mean I'm not addicted to it
Addicted to dying
Addicted to the thrill of wondering
If this will be
My last cough

Quitting isn't my choice
I'm not the one
Who lights up
With shaking fingers
Shielding a flame from the wind
I'm just the one
Who enjoys
The ashtray full of burnt consequences

I don't have the option
To become unattracted
To the white clouds
Floating around your lips
I was already convinced
That following you
Was as good as resting in the sky
Even if my rest
Was on pillows
Made of poison

I can't say I'm thankful
For the intoxicatingly
Toxic air
That you spoon fed me

But I sure am blissful

I'm not stupid enough to think
Thankfulness and blissfulness
Are the same thing
I am smart enough to know
That honestly
I'm no better than you
Even if I wanted to be

You never offered me
My own cigarette to smoke
But standing next to you
I'm as good as dead.