I’ll Quit Again

The infection hasn’t stalled yet.
It courses through me still—
doubt propped up on a pedestal,
backlit with the glow of regret.

I am the architect of my own undoing.
Stagnant mind, borrowed time,
living off habits I stopped fighting
somewhere around the hundredth try.

White tendrils leave my lips
and dissolve into nothing.
Carbon monoxide pirouettes nearby.
Brown stains on fingertips,
warnings I read and ignore
like letters from a doctor I’ll never call back.

One nail in the coffin.
One foot in the grave.
One breath caught in my chest
like it’s not sure it wants to stay.

The days dwindle.
Never-lasting, always shorter.

I reach for my familiar friend—
nerves shot, mind scarred,
fingers gripping like tar
on a thing that’s killing me slowly.

I swear I’ll quit again.
I always do.