Each cigarette

Each cigarette is my last one,
the jagged inhale in the morning,
the ending of my day in the evening,
the break for contemplation in the middle
of the day. Each one is my last one.

Why do we do that which harms us?
We smoke, drink, and eat our days.
Maybe we weren’t meant for so much plenty.
Maybe our success is our failure.
Maybe Wilde got it wrong.
Each man doesn’t kill the thing he loves.
Each man is killed by the thing he loves.