A whiff of cigarette is
Lit with a futile passion.
We are tangled—in the dusky grey smoke,
as it ensnares our senses,
Coiling venomously around our fragile nerves,
Disguised as golden sunshine.
We are lost in a pursuit of affection,
With every puff,my lungs are
choked with a narcotic emotion
leaving me longing for more.
We burn ourselves,
To feel the fire we crave for,
We smile in relief, forgetting,
That we sold our souls to the devil,
For a poison that shall creep slyly into our blackened veins,
"Tis the kind cruelty of a surgeon's knife", I had heard someone say,
That would be us,I muse dreamily as I inject another dose of morphine into my blood.
"Our love is eternal" I declare,
Oblivious to the almost burnt cigarette stick..
When the last whiff is inhaled...
That day,darling,we can lie in our coffin,
Upon which shall be engraved...