Do Not Hurt Angels Poem by Raymond Rivera

He couldn't have been
more than eleven years old.
As innocent as Adam
as fiesty as Eve.

Caught me smoking a cigarette
and proceeded to ask me
why I waste my time
with such filth.
Why I choose to poison my lungs.

Not wanting to deal with a child
I simply told him that I didn't care
and thought we'd go our
seperate ways.

Upon hearing my response
to his question
he glared at me as if I were a
mentally disturbed person.
As if I were sculpting
my own tomb.

Tells me,
'Not me, I'll never smoke.
I'm going to live forever.'

I just laughed
quietly to myself.

Cute kid.