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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.
"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
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