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.