My Cigarette

You are my cigarette.

I go to you when I am stressed.

You comfort me when I am weak.

However it is because I'm weak that I still need you.

Sex and our history act as your nicotine.

I know you're bad for me but I can't live without you.

Slowly, you are killing me; poisoning my system.

Still, with this in mind, I go to you several times daily.

I am powerless against you, forever unhappy.