It started with a spark — small,
barely a flicker. But I held it too close,
watched it bloom to flame.
The first inhale burned sweet,
a rush that filled the quiet, scary places
I swore it was control:
a habit lit only when the night begged.
But ash stains linger where fingers rest,
and my breath draws heavy,
pulling me deeper with each drag.
You ghost around me,
a haze I can’t quite clear.
Every exhale feels like surrender,
the scent of you clinging,
etched into my lungs like a vow.
I tell myself I’ll quit tomorrow,
but the pack stays within reach,
and your ember smolders in the dark.
cigarettes could never be as addicting, nor toxic, as love
