He lived by the smoke and faded into it.
For as it filled his lungs the wall within him grew weaker.
As the ignorant thoughts of a stress-reliever,
became a morbid death discharging the heart of its hobby to pump.
Pump...Pump...Pump...
He forced these tobacco filled killers farther and farther into his mouth.
To shove down the worries of four kids and a barely surviving laundromat.
Putting his lungs in the washer to polish his good intentions,
and dry them off with two packs a day.
Sequestering the addiction from the one’s who loved him the most.
For it was his duty to remain a role model,
and put himself on the front-lines of the tar massacre occurring in the darkness.
And suppress the killings from the kids of the future,
for his past is a piece of unknown history tucked away safely within the Marlboro Reds.
For his heart was of gold yet his actions didn’t let him live too old.