As I sigh, I pat my pockets And search for an old friend. Seeking comfort and consolation In someone I know all too well.
A pure white cigarette with a cotton filter. I place it in my mouth and light the end. A familiar greeting. A firm handshake. Then we begin our conversation.
I take a long drag from my dear old friend. He pats me on the back. He tells me that I will be okay. He gives me the strength that I lack.
Another long puff with a cough at the end. Five minutes of my life that I'll never get back. Five minutes of life taken from me, In exchange for a glimmer of solace.
Holding my friend, I take a deep breath. Inhaling the oxygen I need. Then I fill my lungs with smoke. As I feel the comfort slipping away.
My friend is gone; my friend is done. I flick his remains away. Although he is gone, he will soon return. Helping my body decay.
My solace has disappeared. I'm back to the way that I felt before. My former feelings, now magnified. Leaving me unsatisfied.
"A cigarette is the perfect type of a perfect pleasure. It is exquisite, and it leaves one unsatisfied. What more can one want?" - Oscar Wilde