The Smokers Poem

There was a man who liked to smoke; "I’ll quit some day", he used to joke.He took them with him where ever he went; and out of his wallet the money was spent.He needed them more, so more he would pay; just to get through the pressure of his day.Once he was home, it didn’t slow down; he needed a puff and searched all around.finding them on the table, he gave a deep sigh; relieved that his brain would soon be on high.Feeling able to handle things with peace; he went to lie down to relax and to ceasethinking about stuff that clouded his mind; drifting to sleep, putting the day behind.Then waking in the morning, fumble he did; looking for those cigs, with an open eye-lid.Finding them not, he yelled aloud; everyone could hear him, even those in a crowd.Then clutching his chest, he gave a loud wheeze; breathing his last, he fell down with a seize.When they found him, they said he was holding a lighter; his other hand held, an empty pack even tighter.What a sad end to his life,

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