The Habit

13 Jun

by Natalie Crase

The smoke curls
out of his mouth
although most inhaled in.
It travels down his throat
looking for a place
to seep in.
It chooses his lungs
all toasty and warm.
It transforms them black
blacker than what’s fried
by the sun.
Now he goes off
and dies off young,
all from smoking,
smoking in the bathroom.

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