Smoke

Oh, the rush of everyday work!

The hustle seems endless with no rest

Everyone is in a race to the top to be the best.

I stare at the clock with empty eyes tick tock.

Why do the minutes take ages?

Finally, it is time o clock.

My palms sweaty I get the roll out with a struggle.

My lips touch the roll and I look back at the hustle.

The smoke seems to liberate me.

Going into my lungs and coming out leaving me free.

How I love floating in the air like the smoke from my lips.

Many times I have been told to give this habit a quit.

How do I tell them that the smoke frees me as it leaves my lungs?

Such short-lived pleasures are those of smoke.