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.