You remind me of the pale white paper wrapped cigarettes.
Every time you touched my lips
and I inhaled your lust
you killed me.

A simple, mindless state of relaxation,
starting off a loyal friend
and creeping into a addictive enemy.

Pushed to succeed, my body is weak.
Struggling under the pressure, the stigma, the entire situation of just using you as some sort of temporary relief;
it makes me ache.

Yet, you are the evil one
not I.
Living with you for even just another year
I surely wouldn't be alive.

Though I still feel the cravings,
of the comfort and security.
That by some unusual circumstance
you once brought to me.

I try
To move on by
Quitting one thing at a time,

and it sure as hell ain't cigarettes.