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A poem about smooking and the relief it brings me. |
| For me there is freedom in a cigarette. my stress is turned to ash falling to the ground-- Every suck brings me closer to relieving the stress. The cigarette satisfies my hunger for love that will never find me and embrace me; the box of red and white is my coffin. My death inches closer each time I strike the match. My voice sizzles in the paper. In the glow of the cigarette-- there is a price to pay. |