Cigarette

I remember those foul things from my childhood, as I take a drag while writing this. I would watch my mother smoke them all day, everyday, watching the smoke fill her lungs then leave as she exhales. I recall myself repeating I would never smoke still sitting here puffing down my eighth, maybe ninth cigarette. Every time the smoke fills my lungs I feel disgusted, I can feel my breaths getting shorter and shorter. Yet I don’t stop, I light one again and again killing me slowly with every hit, I just can’t put out this cigarette.