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.