Epitome of Basic

I love the smell of cigarettes on you
When you walk into the room;

Or maybe I love the smell of you
On cigarettes whenever I take a puff;

Maybe I love smoking
Or maybe I love you.

This is so basic.

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A Haze of Blur 

I took another puff and exhaled. The smoke makes no difference to anything, it’s all a hazy blur. So what if I cough with each inhalation? It’s as though I am silently strangled and choking in this mist of restraint and confusion anyway. 

I reach for the cup beside my bed, gave it a light swirl and downed whatever remained of it from the night before. It didn’t go down well, and caused a jerk as it slid uncomfortably through a dry and coarse throat from a puff too much of Marlboro. ‘Damn it’ I thought, as I stare into the shroud of uncertainty gathering in front of me, a sinister shade of the unknown. 

Freedom awaits outside of these gates.