Cigarettes, to those unaware of the addictive
necessities they carry, are a deadly drug, but we are not addicted, we just
enjoy the aroma of their cylindrical walls and the taste of the substances
trapped inside of them. The inner wallpaper of these cancer sticks is mesmerizing
in ways eerie to the blind eye. I know, for once, I too bled at the revolting
appearance and scent of tobacco. As I write this, nicotine travels through my
arteries, putrefying my blood; some say that it poisons me, and that I pay for
my own inevitable demise, but even children are aware of death, and I choose to
go out smiling.
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