My bones rattle as I place the
cigarette to my mouth,
holding it in place by the teeth
as I use my fingers to strike
the match and light the end.

I try to inhale the smoke,
but my lungs fail to inflate
and I sigh,
watching the smoke swirl into the air,
red embers fragmenting into the wind,
the cigarette growing smaller
with each passing second.
I try to close my lips around the blade,
to feel the weak paper hold the tobacco
and leave the taste of nicotine on my breath.

I can’t. My lips won’t close,
Panic courses through my bone marrow,
I scream,
But there is no sound.

I try to dry my eyes of tears,
Only to find my face dry,
The bone is cold as death, and no smooth skin
Covers the surface.

I try to see the problem,
But everything is dark,
The lights have been turned out.

I frantically rub my eyes
Only to hear to the scrapping of
Bone against bone.

I want to panic, but I remember.
I am dead.
I no longer exist.
I relax my bones, and twirl the rest
Of the disintegrating cigarette,
wishing I could feel the heat touch my skin.

I used cigarettes to feel alive
but now they only remind me
of where I am.

No more skin,
no more blood,
no more heart to
crave the feeling of smoke leave the lungs.

Only my bones, and
That Cigarette,
the blade that ended my smoke.