My vice became my addiction.

The thrill of nicotine in my bloodstream

I’m becoming my mother, a nervous wreck only calmed by Marlboro reds.

I don’t resent it, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree and history repeats itself and I’m not angry that I’ve became a reflection.

I’ve alowed a habit to turn into a crutch.

One I lean so heavily upon. 

I know it will be the end of me.

And tonight, while I’m alone and thinking, watching as smoke rings rise to the ceiling

I realize I’m not afraid of death or what comes after it.

These cigarettes are going to help me answer all my questions.