In the shadows of a dim-lit room,
Whispers of smoke dance in the air,
A quiet ritual of solitude and gloom,
Where dreams dissolve without a care.

Each flicker of flame ignites the past,
Embers glow with tales untold,
Yet every drag promises it won’t last,
A fleeting warmth in nights so cold.

The spiral of smoke curls like time,
Carrying memories both lost and found,
In its embrace, a comforting rhyme,
Yet chains unseen hold us bound.

Inhaling the echoes of yesterday’s plight,
Exhaling hopes in cloudy disguise,
A cigarette’s dance in the moonlit night,
Marks a journey of smoky goodbyes.