Nostalgia comes with the Nicotine.
Marlboro and Memories are in the smoke,
It's not the same, when I cough and choke,
For my fingers never flicked that lighter,
But I lit my own spark that was brighter.
Immoral insomnia lasted with this taste,
A burning addiction I would not waste,
But the knowledge of prolonged exposure,
Did not warn off my cravings.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem