“I’m just going for milk he’d say”

but I know we don’t run out everyday

pack after pack I would find in the trash

he’d smudge his hopes into the ash

burning his sorrows in the billowing smoke

with every puff his heart broke

“I can quit any day”

but still i’d find packs hidden away

each stick like a pencil, he’d write

he’d go outside and rehearse through the night

we would yell it’s tearing the family apart

but he’s not in a good place, his mind or his heart

he lights it with his regrets and mistakes

I try to ask how long it will take

until he and his habit are done

but he remembers the risk and the fun

back in his youth when his skin was of silk

“One second” he says, “I have to get milk.”

This poem is about: 
My family
Our world


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