Dear Tobacco,

You don't ask anything of your subjects other than utter devotion.

Sure, they can carry on their lives 'as normal' and all they have to do is devote anywhere from 10 minutes to even two hours of each day to time with you. You don't care if someone double-tasks, as long as you're part of the action. Like the businessman sitting at home, with the kids in the other room, shuffling through paperwork on the kitchen table. A dark Hollywood-like spotlight might seem to form around him from the potlight above as you dance around the table in gentle wafts, careful to spread out as you creep around the home looking for unsuspecting items to cling to... like cloth, walls, windows, furniture, lungs. You have to leave an impression on anything that might give him reason to not need you, or anything that might make him realize he is stronger than you when he has the right support.

He's allowed to keep you around and get work done; with you convincing him the whole time that he's not putting you in the wrong hands. He is, however, putting you into the wrong lungs. Any lungs. And he's letting you bathe his whole existence in you... to help keep the haze in this head as well as his body.

The irony? Is that much of the smoke he leaves around him literally leaves from him.

Talk about a breath of poison air...