i am surrounded by at least a hundred (cigarette) packets, if not two hundred and i blame you for it. it's your fault that i spent over a hundred pounds on (cigarettes) and that the cashier refused to sell them to me because i wasn't allowed to buy that many in one go. i went back there for weeks buying five or ten packets at a time because you caused me to find comfort in the disgusting feeling of smoke running down my throat. you made me feel as if i wasn't alone when i had those sticks of death between my lips.
you taught me how to fucking kill myself, and i don't know if i should be laughing or crying because i had the chance to get away from you and i didn't. i listened to all your double ended promises and accepted your smoke filled kisses; not knowing that those kisses would be the cause of mornings filled with emptiness and the underlying stench of (cigarettes) embedded onto my clothing.
i remember the way you kept giving me buckets of them as you would slowly cut down. it's funny because i was too engrossed in the way the (cigarette) would light up, i didn't notice the way you stopped having your morning one. i didn't notice that you were trying to get rid of your addiction. the only problem is that you never really got rid of it, did you? you just passed it onto me.
YOU ARE READING
cigarettes ✔
Short Storyyou intoxicated me with your words and your smile; so when you left I had withdrawal symptoms in the form of sleepless nights and burnt (cigarettes) ➳ a story about an addict who could not see anything due to the smoke obscuring their...
