There's something about watching those floating grey rings
that relaxes me when I'm stressed. It's just one of those things.
I love how they slowly disappear in the air.
It's like the way I feel when I want to get lost somewhere.
I go to what shrinks might call "my happy place,"
where no one can hurt me and I'm never a disgrace.
Yes, I get all of that pleasure from smoking.
No, I'm not lying, exaggerating, or joking.
Every time I lose a girlfriend or fail a test,
I just whip out my lighter and Camels and give my brain a rest.
All those drags take my mind on an oh-so-sweet trip
whenever I feel the need to take a break from life's grip.
I know I should quit for my health's sake,
but I wouldn't feel like myself anymore. I'd seem like a fake.
I'd rather be the real me with blackened insides
than a goody-goody who's taking myself for a ride.
Sure, I might live longer if I throw these cigs away,
but then how could I possibly get through the day?
Maybe I should join a smokers' support group.
The person in charge will have us jumping through hoops
to prove that we can be strong people with will power.
I better make an appointment right now, before my motivation turns sour.