"I don't know
what to do
anymore," I said,
between hits of
concentrated cancer and
a constant supply of
countenance.

You were there,
and you were
sharing the smoke
with me. Like
a long lost
brother, you sat
close.

"No ****." You
said,  with the
smoke passing through
the screen window.
"We're both equally
killing ourselves." She
added, and it
was the truth
laced with nicotine.

"I'm so lost,"
I said, with
my head resting
on the window,
as she passes
the cigarette to
me.

"You of all
people should know
that."

I'm holding the
cigarette like a
drunk mother holds
both her child
and the toilet
bowl. I'm holding
the cigarette like
it might save
my life.

Her mother screams,
"You better not
be smoking up
there!"