Smoke

When does one know
That they have reached
Even their own limits?
When they reach
The point
Where things are blown out of proportion
And not even they
Can determine that
They've had enough
Of their surroundings,
Their problems,
And need fresh air.
At that point,
They won't be clear
On whether they need to
Put down
That cigarette
Or light a new one;
Whether they should inhale
One more time
Or exhale.
How does one know?
When they're offered
A crutch,
How will they know
Not to accept it
As part of their lives
And become addicted
To point they'd
Die without it?
Maybe
Only a smokey room
Will help them forget
The yelling and fighting
That went on that day.
But how will they know?
Thinking about it
Forces their thoughts to
Become scattered,
The mind to go awry,
And eventually,
The body
Just
Can't
Take
Anymore.
But how will they know
When they reach that point?
What will even be left
For them to know
When there is nothing left
For them to feel?