Cigarette between your
lips, smoke around
your face,
you are an angel.
You cloud your eyes with
depth and drink, and
coat your lips
with ash,
stale-**** breath in
your lungs.
You are not
bad, but the
goodness inside of you is the
size of an
ember from your
last cigarette.
You are tar and
toxins, hidden beneath the
sickly sweet tang
of nicotine.
You were intoxication,
a drink I abused because I
couldn't forget the taste.
You are a drug inside my
body, flowing through my
blood stream,
poisoning my veins.
You were never
good for me, but I
enjoyed the sickness,
the sweat,
the illusion that I
was a light you wouldn't
burn out.