I quite you like I quite nicotine.
Unsure at first, keeping you in my back pocket in case the urge struck me.
You were my guilty pleasure I hid from judgmental eyes that said it was bad for me.
I started to go longer without before I craved another drag that was never quite as good as I remembered.
You felt less natural between my lips.
Stubbornly I'd still find you crumbled on my dresser when I could've sworn I'd thrown you out.
I never knew addiction and love to be the same until I met you.
And since I refused to give you power over me,
I smashed every damn ashtray.