Puffs

The smoke from my lips rush into the air, billowing around my head. My lung hurt from years of abuse. I cough, I hack, as they try to dispel of the mucus that collects in my lungs. Another drag, knowing the cigarette between my lips do little good for my body.

I argue that it brings me peace, helping me to relax from the nicotine running through my blood.

I tell others that I'll quit when I'm less stressed. I know. I know the lie isn't really a lie because life is always stressful.

There will never be a time when I'm 'less stressed'.

And I know that.

I know that I'm wasting money. Money that could be put so many more beneficial options.

Almost anything is more beneficial.

I know.

Anything that anyone tells me to persuade me to quit.

I know.

But the dopamine. The habit. The small break in the monotone of whatever I'm doing in the moment...

And it isn't like I never tried.

I tried

I tried.

But every time I try, I never fully stop.

I break down and buy a pack, just for one. One to curb the cravings and ease the headache that just will not go away.

Now I have a pack. I cannot waste the money spent, so it will be my last pack then.

And if I'm with friends and they're smoking, it's almost rude not to join, so maybe I can bum just one. Or two. Definitely no more than three!

Did you know that your lungs ache and spasm after a few hours of not smoking. It's similar to when I do.

I failed at quitting, so I quit try and go back to my lies that aren't really lies.

I'll try again. again. and again. But I will quit. When everything is less stressed.