My first puff made me a chronic smoker.
With my innocence being astray I enjoyed the irony of not being sober.

At first I enjoyed the energy it circumfrenced in me, how I levitated into a timeless space.
Until a point and time I turned pale and frail.

A foreign resemblance on the mirror.
All the public gloats that made me cynical and bitter.

I couldn’t handle the pressure of being an outcast.
Deep inside I knew my blood toxins were rejecting it but admitting it was a drag.

Turned my world upside down and made me a family reject.