Quitter's Lament

Constantly saying I'm throwing them away
then sweet fingers turn claws and
dig into not today.

I'm rotting my breathing and rasping my voice,
yet my choices continue sending barrages of
smoke to the back of my throat.

No! My spirit cries out again my
lungs' dessication for stress' gratification.

I refuse to throw bones of appeasement to
the beast throwing webs
of addiction over my neurons.