Cigarettes
Lethal poison fills my lungs
Then blows a gentle farewell
You need not load your gun
My own life, I will derail
My index and middle feel bare
When the tiny ember stick
Darts throughout the air
Following a dreaded flick
Once the light is gone
I sit for a moment and rest
A dangerous state of calm
Irony at its best
Copyright © Anna Hopper | Year Posted 2015
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