There was a man

Who had calloused hands

Owned by his company

Fueled by the money

He’d sit on his porch

As the sun came out

And the birds flew about

He’d imagine himself just as free

He’d light a cigarette

It would numb his heart

In his old worn down chest

And turn his lungs to ash with each tired breath

The smoke fogged his brain

He yearned for rest

Though he had no money to his middle class name not even at his old age

The cigarettes had burnt a hole through his wallet an ashy ill smelling one at that

He was in debt but his money was spent on those damned cigarettes

His wife made him vow to change

He agreed

Prayed to God for a break

But he granted no such thing

He fought every day

In his own sweat and tears way

Pushed his mind to its brink

But he couldn’t escape its promise of relief

As the season changed

He found himself

Back in the grip of sweet sweet smokey death

The scent radiating off his lips

He found solace in its sickly arms

When stress colored his hair white

It burdened his mind in more ways than one

Took years off his humble life

He found himself lost in the fog

Alone in the deep

Bound by a promise

That he couldn’t keep