A Man Like a Cigarette

I'm addicted to you like a smoker is addicted to nicotine.

I know you're bad for me. In fact, you're killing me slowly with every word you say.

You're like a cigarette, because no matter how horrible you are for me, I still want more.

At stressful times, you relax me. You give me a light-headedness that brings me to another state of calm, and I'm almost happy. Almost.

But, then, I remember how with every moment I'm with you, your scent entering my body and making me feel at home, I'm dying. You would think I would be smart enough to quit, but I just can't.

You taste so horrible. Everything having to do with you brings a bitter flavour to my mouth. It's disgusting. You're disgusting, and I'm disgusting for still wanting you.

The worst part of it all, though, is that when I try to quit, you're always in the back of my mind. I think about you, about how you make me feel. You can make me feel so good, but so bad.

And then there are the withdrawals when I try to leave. I can't be without you for so long, or I start losing it. I can't function without you. Fuck, I hate being so dependent on you. Why did you put me in this position?

You look at me with a smug expression, leaning against the brick exterior of my apartment building and holding a cigarette in between your lips. You flick the ashes away much like how you flick me away when you don't want me anymore. It hurts, but being without you hurts even more.

Smoke spirals slowly out of your mouth, looming in the air around you as you watch me. I can't help but think of how godly you look, and I curse myself for thinking so highly of you when you're such scum. You grin at me.

Suddenly, I can't breathe. The tar in my lungs has built up from all your unholy speech, making them unable to function. As I gasp for air, your secondhand smoke enters me and I choke even more. I can't breathe and you're not helping me, because you're causing me to feel this way.

My eyes are closed and my head feels light again, and although I can't comprehend what is going on around me I can feel your hand on my cheek. Your thumb rubs just under my eye, and they flutter open to see you leaning in. Your breath, putrid in scent, enters my nose just before your lips press against mine.

In that moment, I don't care about how you're killing me. I don't care about how you smell like death. I don't care about what damage you've done in the past. I only care about having this feeling-- the feeling you give me when you touch me-- for as long as I can before you push me away again.

You know I'll come back to you, always. Cause you're a man like a cigarette and I'm a woman with an addiction.