A Smoker's Tale

I quit you...

You were my cigarette.

Your breath created tar in my lungs

and painted my nails the color of the moon.

I bought a nicotine patch, my own assassin,

trained to kill my pathetic addiction.

But at night, I couldn’t sleep because I could

smell you, and your smoke only ever made

me crave you.


It’s been over a year and I’ve stopped

coughing up bits of you.

I paint my nails coral and blue and the

nicotine patch is long since gone from

the trash beside my bed. I open the

windows in my room and no longer

breathe you.


And if I ever see you again,

I pray I no longer crave you.

The End

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