The Smoking Gun

I smoke a cigarette, and while it helps my mind to rest, I detest I treat my body like this. But I smoke to protest against those who don't, but spend their existence trying to stop me, from shortening mine. But it is my time to spend how I wish, Even if that means I'm a nightmare to kiss. I already know what the effects of my smoking are, it's not a shock to me that my lungs are filling with tar. So they fight a losing battle because, the more they rattle my cage the more I want, to light a flame. In defiance of their interference, a resistance to their insistence, that I quit. Don't assume I don't know what I'm doing, or that I'm dangerous, and my only remedy, is to purchase what you're selling me, as an aid. I am not sick, for if I am then so is every other man who, has a drink, a sleeping pill, a burger or a coffee or two. We all have our ways of relaxing, when we max out our stresses, our time, we find ways to unwind. So I'll carry on with grace, respecting other people's space, and you can carry on with yours and, I will not make your flaws unlawful. Leave me to be, while I rest here in peace.