Last Cigarette Before Bed

In the very early hours,
as I watch somniferous tendrils
of smoke rise from my cigarette,
I feel the grip of loneliness.
That tangible feeling of its arms
wrapped about me,
like a lover who could not care less,
the reluctant hug of a stranger.
It presses against my body
with an insistent grip
meant to suffocate,
it never wants to let go.
I long for someone to replace it,
peel away its vice like grip,
and hold me tenderly.
Just once.
Just
once.

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