In the quiet corners, shadows dance with smoke,
Each inhalation, a story, an unspoken yoke,
A fleeting pleasure, a momentary escape,
Yet, the silent ashes, in the air, reshape.

Fingers stained with the scent of despair,
A burning ember, a solitary glare,
The whispers of health, a distant plea,
As the smoke curls, a lost decree.

Lungs embrace the toxic mist,
A lover’s kiss, a deadly twist,
The heart beats a rhythm, a somber tune,
Beneath the pale, cold moon.

Eyes closed, dreams are hazy,
The mind, in a fog, forever lazy,
Cigarette smoking, a slow decay,
The silent ashes, in the wind, sway.