Brand

On the nights when the sadness

was  too loud and too overwhelming

for anything else to make sense

I found  peace in picking tobacco

from the unlit end of a (un)lucky strike.

As if spending time with a carcinogen

was the same as having a date

with death himself.

But all dates end.

The end of a cigarette

snuffed out against my forearm

was a fast reminder

that I could  still feel pain.

I quit smoking five years ago. 

But damaged tissue 

directly above my wrist 

is a constant reminder 

that I had nights 

where I thought it was a good 

idea to romanticize death.