Burns

I smoked because it reminded me of her.

The light, cooling sensation of the menthol.
A small stick embodying a personal death wish.
Weightless, gray smoke sifts through the air like her hair would lay.
Softly, but roughly it swam down her cheeks.
"Why do you smoke," I'd say.
"It relaxes me," she'd reply.
All the while wondering if it were true, or she just wanted to die early.
Like the straw in my hat, she weaved herself under my skin.
With one powerful and quick motion, she ripped herself from me.
Tearing through my entire body.
The entirety of myself was caused the greatest pain I'd ever endured.
It was as if every cigarette she had, was put out on every inch of me.
I imagine she'd ash her cigarette a twelfth as much as she'd let tears escape her long lashes.
Even that was asking too much.
No longer did she care of how I felt. She did as she pleased.
She nurses a single beer the entire night and says she's had nine.
"I'm drunk."
A clever girl, she could get away with whatever she wanted and blame the "alcohol".
All the while, I sit in my room inside her cage.
Always with the ability to leave, though I never wanted to.
The door, open, beckoning.
As I find out the life she's lead, my brain reset itself.
The door that was originally open and waiting, was behind me.
Locked.
I closed my eyes and left.

About a year ago, I quit smoking.
Today, I smoked a pack.