Smoke 

You said you hate it when my mouth tastes like cigarettes, how you can taste the ashes in my mouth as if you’re licking an ashtray. I smoked a pack after you left, and watch our memories fade away in each puff of smoke. You told me to stop back then, when you were still there to nit pick at my bad habits, told me that it’s like watching me waste away at 11 seconds per stick.

I was planning to stop, really, but then you left and I ended up counting down my life at 11 second increments. Nicotine helps calm down the mind you see, at least at the end of this pack I will be calm enough to stop blaming myself. Or maybe, at least in the back of my mind I know I’m pissing you off, a small rebellion of some sort, or maybe I’m wishing you’d be back to stop me.