when I was younger, I was told that smoking cut your life, 7 minutes a stick, in the same smokey room my grandfather was in, sucking in 3 packs all at once.
I was told by father, that I should know better, to not pick up one when someone offered, but he said so, with purple brown lips, and I find that quite hypocritical.
those were the few things that ran through my mind, the night of the 28th when my cousin and I were out under the stars, and he sees that my uncle had left his pack unattended in the garage.
in his hand now were 6 sticks, he offers me one.
i take it. i take it knowing it is me to blame.
i grew up in homes where coughs came from those who are lovers of the unlit side of the cigarette, and when they died they'd blame it on the creation of these 'cancer sticks'
you do not blame the skinny two toned sticks, you blame the fingers that cradle it like a baby, you blame the hand that reaches out for the lighter, you blame the lungs that subjects itself to smoke that costed more than the oxygen that costed not even a single penny.
you do not blame the cigarettes, you blame the smoker.
and the minute i put the lit cigarette inbetween my lips and let the drying taste trigger coughs and an unpleasant smell to be met by my nostrils.
i did not blame my cousin, i do not blame the unattended packet, i did not blame the lighter, i blamed the inhalation of my lungs that welcomed it to do what it will
08:33
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