Smokers never die

The fume I'm watching around me fabricating into round fog which consolidated in the air before I could even blink its coming from the cigarette I'm having in my right hand.
it's not enough .

It Seems like playing with my life , Everything that's kills me makes me feel alive.
but it's not.
it gave me strength in tough time .
The time when I find myself in situation where others can't reach , the time when everyone's near but feels like miles away from me , the time when I asked myself what that would be I wanna change if I could go back to the past . The time when I can see through, the time when I'm the real me . It makes me forget about the time I have dreamt of.

That time I look upon myself and wondering how my life could've been changed if I pull six inch of stick made of ink instead of 3 inch stick made of leaves. I just wonder how the time will be when death will stand in front of me and I won't be ready to go , because all those dreams , plans and desires would have fly with my soul . But now all those dreams is blur like this smoke I have give up on that . There is nothing I can achieve. I I've left the desires to live. There is nothing I can flaunt.
Prophesying doom and gloom is simply not my thing anymore. I see myself in the mirror and found myself in the life which is far away from the process of considering about my life because mirror never lies. Now my endurance is at a place where I just wanna die but can't. Means of death is analgesic but not rapid. May be that's why they say Smokers never die .....