The only visible light appears at the end of my lit cigarette
Your personal beacon; my failing defense mechanism.
We stand alone in a cramped, dark space.
Eyebrow raised as realization hits -
Everything here is a gradual killer.
Addictions made to order; made to suffer.
Pain for pleasure, pleasure for pain.
With a light stomp of a booted foot, the cigarette is put out.
And in this dark, you cannot see the warning smirk.
You may be the next.
...but don't we all crave something lethal?
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
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