A flick of the flint and the small wheel bites
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making the spark for yet another light.
Inhaling deeply, he takes another smoke,
itís been five minutes since the last one, bloke.
Twelve smokes an hour, each burned to the filter,
disease taking control, throwing life off kilter.
Denial is the badge worn and proudly displayed.
smoking the most important and obvious choice
made as yet another is consumed, a breath or two is
taken, better hurry though, the cigarettes are waiting.
Into the pocket for the executionerís torch, taking yet
another smoke, precious life-sustaining lungs to scorch..
I read your poems
rich and sweet
then lay roses at