Cigarettes

I used to smoke cigarettes outside my bedroom window, it became a habit of mine after I stole a cigarette from my mom

I took puff after puff outside my bedroom window and looked  out to the stars, sometimes wishing I lived a very different life and sometimes I wished to go back home.

My father got mad at me for stealing cigarettes from him, and that somehow made my smoking worse. We got into argument after argument and my smoking habit increased and so did my wishes upon the stars, except they stopped being wishes to go home or live a different life and became wishes for this life to end already.

Now I'm home, with my mom.

And I still smoke and look up to the stars, but I have no wishes. Instead I enjoy the stars and show different constellations to my sister, in admiration to the stars I used to wish so much from.

A small story from a wisher

ps: I don't know if this is poety, I just wanted to write something