My cigarettes and stale air mix into
a heavy, yet familiar smell. A scent
that starves my soul but feeds the ballyhoo
that I enjoy this. Then there's days I've spent
in fellowship with coffee; a dark friend
whose warm but bitter taste comforts my nerves.
The fear and familiarity outspend
the price an unrepentant life deserves.
I smoke in defiance of who I am;
exhaling streams of smoke that silhouette
the fact I act like I don't give a damn.
It's time to smoke a cigarette
and quietly deny I've given up
this being my last smoke or my last cup.