There they sit; slim and straight,
taunting me, tempting fate.
I sit, fidget and squirm,
a desire to affirm
they hold no sway o’er me.
A lie for all to see.
Cigarette, fag or smoke;
all words on which I choke,
my need for nicotine
alarming and obscene.
My resolution weak,
I have to go and seek
any small distraction,
finding satisfaction
in ought but cancerous
drugs found so glamorous.
But alas, here I fail,
here I start to derail.
Shaking hand reaches out,
my cravings scream and shout.
A small white stick sits there,
addictive, it ensnares
all ages, young and old,
more dangers yet untold.
A small spark builds a flame
to burn away my shame.
I breathe in sweet relief
whilst feeling deepest grief;
failed again I fear.
I’ll try again next year.
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