The essence of my being is detracted with every inhalation.
My life is short and miserable.
The only accolade I may endow upon others is the merciless continuation of my own misery.
My legacy is the cancerous manifestation within your being.
I am an addiction which cannot be appeased.
The lingering journey to and from your mouth seems an action without consequence.
While this is true, it is also false; the accumulation of repetitive undertaking breeds permanence.
And lo, I am your eternal keeper.
In time gone by, I have gradually fallen from grace and esteem.
No longer am I a solution, rather I am viewed as the problem.
The public sphere constantly denounce me, yet I am not evil, nor am I good.
I am an instrument of liberty and conservatism.
I am a faithful servant to the sentimentalist.
I am the humble cigarette.
