Release

This poem was inspired by a guy sitting in a car passing me by. The little things in life count. -Brie-anne

A man, sitting in his car.
A green car. Lights up a smoke
A pipe of lung cancer, a cigarette.
A deep breath he breathes as he consumes
thousands of chemicals.
Does he know how he treats his body,
Does he even care that he is smoking to his death?
Fragile.
Words he will come to know.
like glass, he is cutting into his health.
The world he lives in slowly shatters around him.
Spinning out of his reach.
puff, puff, puff.
Away the oxygen he grasps onto...
Release.

Author's Note

My opinion on smoking will never change, I don't like it. i don't like the smell of it. I hardly can stand being around it everyday. Sadly my mother and my step-dad smokes... I know they try to quit but it takes them forever. I know i will never give in to smoking.
What is your opinion about smoking? Are my readers interested , should i continue with this kind of poetry?