The Cigarette

The Cigarette

         The long scrap of paper rolled with tobacco falling out of the end waits in vain. It knows that it will never be touched. It has been there for too long and has been the demise of too many. Even when the stress is really bad, it will only be given a passing glance.

         The slender wand of mustard and chalk is almost magical with its ability to reduce stress and induce euphoria with a single puff. It has the capability to seduce you into feelings of want and need, only to stab you in the back.

         It sits on the table begging to be lit, not caring that it will die a slow death along with you who chooses to indulge. You will become dependent on this magical sprig. It will control you if you let it. It has a mind of its own; it cannot be trusted not even for a single drag.

         It has plans that you cannot know about. Plans to blacken your lungs and destroy your youth. So if you are as smart as I think you are, you will let it sit there. It is not to be touched; it is left as a reminder of those that it has already taken. You will not be one of them. You will not be charmed by the magic.