fag, please!!

it is going to be quite a revelation for some people. I am shuddering while I am jotting this but fidgeting won't help. I have to be true to you. I am a smoker. not a big timer but of a worse variety-- a slave of smoke in times of woe. I don't smoke when I am happy. I do it when the burning end of the cigarette is the only ray of hope I am left with.I have been in and out of my smoking phase. for me, the white parchment with its brown end wraps all the liberation within itself . it does so, until I promise myself "no more smoke-sticks for me..". the promise is issued when my joyous days return. how cheap!!

lemme come to the beginning of my end. it was this last day of school. my whole bunch was dissipating to every nook and corner of INDIA. separation was difficult and we were on crossroads. they were decisions to be made and we being tenth graders were not very fit to do it. but the immediate pain emanated from the thought of leaving the school for good. Call it our recklessness or a misplaced method of anxiety-management ; we lit our joy sticks to ease the feeling of never-see-you-again. we sold a piece of our soul to this tiny slim freak, what for? a momentary elation, some minutes of forgetfulness of the fact that we were drifting apart and some cubic of nicotine. then on, every time I grew pensive ; smoke clouded my eyes. "sorrow and smoke are not very good friends. they don't go along well. If you are unhappy, try to burn sadness with cigarette. " but its a merry-go-around. the sorrow always strikes back and the smoke just watches in awe. wet as many smoke-butts as you wish; there is no escape.

okay, I have to admit this. one who smokes , he always has cogent reasons for doing so. for the first 20 fags , he answers himself. once he stands convinced; nicotine takes over. I am not a terrific smoker..( not very charismatic like the Hollywood dudes who produce wriggling and wobbling shapes of smoke but a surreal one. rub the match stick- light the end- puff it off- kinda smoker. ). I left it when I did some reality check, googled for the hazards, when someone made me promise that I won't touch it . I thought that I had left my pack to a point of no return. I forgot that the road always turns. we return because the roads fork in wrong directions. I restarted it again. I knew I was deceiving many but cigarette eats up your conscience. you always think , " who is gonna see here, this nook which is so spidey even for the insects? so light it!! smoke on..." even now when there seems to be no way out, I turn back and the fumes hold me. you would think, what the F.. ? Is he a hollow barrel of will-power?? but smoke burns the oil of will ; to the very last drop. all these promises to my loved ones don't help. when I am in a pickle, I smoke. the fumes even conceal the faces that would die seeing me do that. I don't do that to hurt them. I do that cause I think its an escape route. I know it isn't.. but at times , it is. hell!! I am confused.