Lighter

Hells fire dancing at my fingertips,
rotting teeth smiling as a lung rips.

As I lean here in silence,
staring at my feet.
The prospect of death,
clenched between my teeth.

Sticky and black,
crawling down my throat.
Should have listened,
to what the attorney general wrote.

Mussels seize,
as the diaphragm chokes.
And out of the trachea,
pours smoke.

Chemicals and toxins,
begin to trim.
Inches and inches,
off of could have been skin.

Hells fire dancing at my finger tips,
rotting teeth smiling as a lung rips.
Lighting my last cigarette,
And taking another hit.