A f*cked up poem - The Killing Thing

No this isn't a poem. I clickbaited you. *chuckles*

Where it does get poetic though is my life. I like how it works, especially the irony of everything. Personified perchance, I would hug it. Marry it maybe.

“It's a metaphor, see: You put the killing thing right between your teeth, but you don't give it the power to do its killing.”, writes John Green in The Fault In Our Stars. Me, a twisted intellectual sees things differently. I give it exactly the power to do what it is intended to do. Because the killing thing gave me my reason to live. Strange as it may seem, a 13-year-old me wanted to get it over with and was saved by only one thought, 'I haven't tried the killing thing. No regrets when its all over.' and so I lived. Fast forward 8 years and I genuinely regret nothing. I strongly stand by my thoughts on regret though. Ain't nobody changing that for me.

In other news, My love for the Killing thing has grown. We've been through a lot and bonded simultaneously. While it does kill me, it doesn't. I could and can quit it, shall I decide to do so, but I shan't. It is truly for me, what the millenials would refer to as a 'constant'. I sound like an addict, don't I?

Alright, I'll give you a poem for sitting through this maniacal rant.

~

Each cigarette born, burns to ash

Births smoke as it goes out

The smoke will kill

but why worry now

I've already been killed from within.

But the cigarette, you may ask

Did good, I'll say

It gave all it had been.

~

I rest my case, reader.

Thanks for reading!

Stay tuned!

Toodles :)