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One Last Cigarette Please

Updated on June 3, 2016

With the start of a new day upon me

and with a smoking cigarette in hand,

I inhale your welcoming smoke

as in my mind I tell myself

this is the last one.

But until then I say.

One last cigarette please.

When I cough until my ribs hurt

and I gasp for that much needed breath of fresh air,

with the blood spattered handkerchief beside me

and the phlegm clogging my lungs -

all I seem to ask for is.

One last cigarette please.

With the stress of the days work upon me

and the goals I had to try and achieve

I grab for my packet of twenty

and reach for that comforting tipped stick,

with a sigh of relief and a knowing of guilty pleasure

I feel all I can ask for is.

One last cigarette please.

With pipes wired up to me

and a supply of oxygen to help me breathe,

With warnings I failed to listen too

as I gave in to my habit of routine.

My life is now finally yours

as I know you will get me in the end.

But before you do all I ask is

One last cigarette please.


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    • peter.matthews profile image

      Peter W Matthews 6 years ago from West Sussex, England

      thank you for your comment snakeslane it is much appreciated

    • snakeslane profile image

      Verlie Burroughs 6 years ago from Canada

      It's really good to see this poem here. It is my understanding that this type of addiction can be overcome, but the addict needs a lot of reminding. Your poem is and should be a wake up call to any smoker who is lucky enough to find this page. Thank you peter.matthews for your efforts.

    • peter.matthews profile image

      Peter W Matthews 6 years ago from West Sussex, England

      Hi Hyphenbird my father too died of emphysema and it gave me a reality check. I suffer with asthma but my addiction was far greater than my respect for my health. it is so strange that seeing my father pass made me realise enough is enough. But it is true, once addicted it is far easier to smoke than the quit. Thanks you for your comments

    • Hyphenbird profile image

      Brenda Barnes 6 years ago from America-Broken But Still Beautiful

      My father died from emphysema, OPCD and heart disease caused by cigarettes. I know thousands of other people have also. Having never smoked, I cannot know the challenge to quit. I can feel compassion as it really is an addiction for the person quitting. Your poem strikes the bell on the hate for the killer while feeling the draw for "just one more." Great job!