Nicotine

A cigarette, in the grips of the knuckles of a teenager,

A deal with the devil, every inhale is a step closer to a real problem and every exhale a part of the soul finds comfort in the smoke,

Glides through the air twisting to turn and find solace new body,

The days of an easy life are over,

“You should quit while you’re ahead,” an old man once told me, his eyes dropping from lack of rest and his head messy from nights he stayed up drinking with a filter fastened to his lips after every thought and sip of a strongbow,

I sit with an extinguisher in my head, that falsely reads ‘out of order’.