In my youth I desired death.
Every cigarette brought me closer.
Living seemed too monotonous.
I held the bud, inhaled the toxic fume disguised with menthol.
I licked my lips, moisture for a dry soul.
I ponder how within more age you tend to grasp for life.
How wrinkled hands use their frails energies to clench to something that is inevitably doomed.
Weak memories of what one day passed, of what seem important.
I refuse to spend treacherous hours clinging when in the end, like all, I shall fall.
It is not a frightful fall, why should death be frowned upon?
Why the fear of the unknown must drive souls to go mad?
I simply live.
I simply breathe.
I simply am.
I just smoke my cigarette and smile.
Let the fumes take away my worries and await the day I fall.