Your breath smells like that of your morning cigarette, exhaled with stress and pain. Relief is hidden, deep within that last nicotine filled puff of gray. Temporary relief from permanent pain found in the most vital part of you, your heart. Lately the three or four a day have turned to packs instead of singles. The pain grows and so does your craving for the thing killing you most, her. She's breaking you down. Filling every crevice with the toxicity she calls love. Every external bruise comes with even worse internal sorrow. Don't pity her, for she is the one, the downfall of it all. Your sobriety? Out the door, like you when you take your nicotine killer out to blacken your perfect lungs even more. But does she give a damn? Not one. So why do you still try? Because of this little pill they call love.
