My grandmother once warned me, if I should ever take one puff of a cigarette I will be addicted forever. And so I never have. And I never will. Smoking repels me. I truly hate it.
And yet. There are other addictions she never told me about. Addictions I willingly seek, and cannot resist. Playing with fire, and getting burnt. Burning the flesh that has already been scarred.
Just like that first puff of a cigarette. It is the first line that is crossed. That has the power to draw and hook you in. Into a tangled, messy, uncomfortable, powerless web.
And at the end, all that is left, is the burnt ash of a once beautiful flesh.
Poems and Petals 