We light them,
As if acknowledging and
Handshaking Miss Death.
We light the Cigarettes like troubled heroes.
This quiet display of macho,
Is contained only to us.
From outside, it looks like
We are broken vessels.
Cigarette over cigarette
Go namelessly by,
Under the stamping of our slippers.
Getting flattened to roads we have visited.
We smoke, not because we like them.
We smoke following some ancient lust
For quick death, for some quick action,
and some quick relief.
I hate Cigarettes now,
And you should too.
But pass me an occasional cigarette,
So that we can, once again, talk like real friends.
