I can feel your shallow breaths, as your lungs try filling to their full capacity.
Working overtime to provide your body with the oxygen that it needs.
You fear the level of your anxiety, and you've pushed your nerves to their limit.
Knowing what you're doing is slowly killing you, but you carry on until you're finished it.
You have to live with the consequences that you've dealt yourself, and you're cursed with a wretched obsession.
You always need to have them on you; they always need to be in your possession.
You care about nothing else but your bad habit, and act like it's the most difficult thing to drop.
You choke down those poisonous toxins and you ignore your body trying to rid you of it as you cough.
You can't remember the last thing you did, as your memory leaves your mind.
You can't remember the last words you spoke, and you quickly lose track of time.
Only remembering certain things from your past, though sometimes you can't even remember my name.
You didn't have to put yourself in this situation right when it was offered, but you now have yourself to blame.
The best times of your life are becoming easier to forget, as each memory starts to slip away.
Eventually you'll be unable to recall a thing, as your mind goes blank and you have nothing left to say.
People long for the time to come when their working years are over, to grow together old.
But you'll just end up sitting there as still as a statue; gray, lifeless and cold.
But the years fly by for you without your regard.
I bet when you were 14 you never pictured your life turning out to be this hard.
You dreamed of taking care of me until the end, but I seem to be taking care of you instead.
You dreamed of seeing me transition into adulthood, but how can your body function properly when you're almost brain dead?
As the tar builds up in your lungs and you're on that nicotine high, at least remember what everyone warned.
Every puff takes a day off your life and your years are numbered, but the ending will be mourned.