And He Starts Smoking Again

I started smoking again. I couldn't say no. It was a weak moment.

Stress, I was stressed.

Did I tell you I was stressed? Did I? Stressed, I was stressed. Don’t you hate stress? So stressed that you shake. But, you don’t shake, not to the outside world, not normally. It is on the inside you shake. In the pit of your stomach and the marrow of your bones. That buzz, that zzzzz, that unholy whir. That wobble, that tension, that mean spirited purr. That is what I hate, that! That feeling deep down, like a quake a tremble, a shake to my nerves. I hate that. I really hate that. Have I told you today?

Until I take a cigarette and I light it up.

Beyond my control, I think, as I exhale.

I can feel it invading every cell down below, from the tips of my fingers to the tips of my toes.

Drowning the shake, drowning the nerves, until I can wipe my brow and send the woozles away.