Is that so wrong.

I have no desire to start, because of the little things I hate about it. But there's something very romantic about the thought of smoking. The first drag, the lighter, the way the smell sticks to your clothes and the taste sticks to your mouth.

And of course there's nothing cooler than the cigarette shot. The stick, the light, the perfect angle to the mouth. Then the pull and the perfect gray cloud of smoke that sifts into thoughts.

It's like everything with me. The fantasy is much better than the reality. I'll always been in denial of that even though I know. Like any denial. You always know deep down.

I don't want the cancer or the wrinkles or the smell. But mostly I don't want a daily reminder of how I have nothing I want.



hold me close like we both died
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