To the young woman who burned through a pack and a half of Marlboro Reds every day.

Eventually,

your food tastes like the ash 

seeped into your fingers. 

Tongue and lips where bitterness lingers. 

Eventually, 

a mere breath chokes you. 

You open your mouth to speak

but only cough and phlegm are released.

Eventually, 

you can’t run a block. 

Young, but your legs are useless,

lungs scraped clean of air.

Body parts of dregs.

Eventually, 

your teeth yellow,

your breath reeks,

your mouth exhales a cloud of bleak.

Eventually,

you remember why you started.

To look cool,

hoping your first boyfriend would approve. 

Eventually,

you realize.

Cigarette companies thrive, 

while their customers wheeze, break, and die.

Eventually, 

you quit. 

The desire never goes away. 

Just remember no one wants to kiss an ashtray.