I am not a cigarette. You cannot grab me in between your crooked fingers at your convenience. You cannot expect me to light up every time I'm being held, expecting me to give you my all. I'm not here to settle your cravings or your desires. You cannot put me out whenever you get bored or crave something more, leaving me here to wait. You threw me to the ground, stomped whatever I lit inside of me out, and left me on the ground to wash away. I've been left behind to roll around in the ashes you caused; you took your satisfaction and ran. You cannot pick me back up when you're ready and expect me to be here like the fresh nicotine you're wishing for. You try to get rid of me with a flick of your skinny fingers, but you realize someone else may be craving what you just destroyed. You cannot pick me back up seconds later realizing the mistake of letting me go.

I'm not a cigarette, although, your lips will forever be the lips I yearn for. I will give you every drag I have in me, even though I know you'll be done soon. I will stay where you left me, dropped me even. That way, if you ever crave me again, I will still be around. The smell of me will linger amongst you and your friends, and when you desire me again, you will think of me as the black ashes that you burned for so long.

But maybe you are my cigarette. I can't get away from you, even though I try my hardest. My bones crave you; my body needs you. I see you in my dreams, and I smell you all around me. I'm trying to fight this addiction, but I'm losing at this game called love.

-akh