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Cigarette Prose on Finger

one

The cigarette in my hand kept burning, but I didn't take a sip. I don't know when I liked the smell of cigarettes. I don't remember when I learned to smoke. In the room, the diffuse smell of smoke lingers on the edge of the scar, causing pain. Weak pain makes people sweat as big as beans, but they can't shout out the sound of pain. Smoke is still burning, smoke gently outlines the shape of the soul in the eyes, and those colorful melancholy continues.

two

Every day when I come home from work, I will light a cigarette for myself, take a sip gently and spit it out vaguely. It's a smell that people love and hate. I have always hated the smell, but no one told me that "I will get angry if I smoke again". So I put the smoldering smoke on the wall, and a puff of blue smoke came on my face, leaving a black mark on the white wall. I suddenly remembered some fragments that I couldn't help but stay in my mind. It's so warm that people can't bear to forget those exquisite scenes. Maybe all they need is these insignificant warmth. However, the loneliness in the room is irretrievably certain, and I am proud and crazy. By default, I let tears wash away the mark of loneliness, and gray loneliness is like a haze. I am tired.

three

Gently stroked the smoked nails, and then gawk at the ceiling. Playing with a cigarette in his hand. Gently put it under your nose, sniffed it and lit a lighter. I still can't stand watching the smoke burn out between my fingers. Your first smile to me. Cigarette butts swaying in the dark light up a tiny space, and thick warm red is full of eyes, dotted with endless black. The smell of tobacco is slowly drowning your heart, making you curl up in a narrow space and release an empty soul. Gently tap the clean rim of the cup with slender fingers and shake off the ash in your hand. There is nothing left.

four

I tried my best to suck the smoke from my mouth into my lungs. I still choked up. I threw the cigarette out of my sight. Looking at the smoke in the corner, that's my miss. I picked up the lost cigarette and threw it away. Clean commitment, with a sweet heartbeat, tears or continue to smile. Unknown pain, erupting in bright red blood, seeping a little cold around the cold, strong and finally falling at the foot of false warmth, the body becomes nothingness, leaving only silent breathing.

This pack of cigarettes continues my yearning for you, but can't continue your love for me.