Bad Habit

Ashes to ashes,

placed perfectly between two

fingers.

Its thin skin secures it as a whole.

Pressing my lips onto it

as I light a flame.

My lungs, bruising

like the aftermath

of a broken heart.

It’s bad for you

they say

coughing from the pollution

of their cars.

My middle finger replies while I

flick the ash off my cigarette.

It only kills me if I light it

-which I do.

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