For the first time in my life, I feel this inexplicable desire
to light up a drag.
Either it be self-want, or self-need--the reason remains uncalled for.
Revolved theory: Perhaps the fleeting smoke can fog up my sight,
at least for a few seconds.
I'm not seeing enough, but it feels like too much.
Perhaps the warm aroma of a transient life can subside
my internal cringe.
My lungs desperately plead for an interruption--
The more I inhale, the less I'll take in.
There's only so much a chest can let in.

and my mind-- If I reel one more selfless thought in my mind,
this night could be endless.
The moon and the stars in the glistening sky,
they'll divulge my repentance.
If this drag can dwindle this intensified despair, even most slightly,
I'll prim my lips against its tinted white tip,
in repetition until fume elicits from my eyelids.