They Never Quit the Fire
The world turned soft.
Some lit leaves for calm,
for laughter,
for songs at dusk.
They passed joints
like quiet rituals,
not religion—
but release.
But the cigarette smokers
never changed.
They kept their fire mean.
Kept their smoke sharp,
like a blade at the edge
of someone else's breath.
They didn’t smoke
to float.
They smoked
to mark territory.
While others exhaled
to escape,
they inhaled
to own.
Even when the world
said peace,
they said—
“Let it burn.”
They never joined
the soft rebellion.
They clung
to the slow violence
of filters and fury.
Not to dream,
but to dominate.
Not to fly,
but to conquer every lung
within reach.
They never smoked to feel better.
They smoked
to remind you
they were still there.
Still strong.
Still burning.
Even when others smoked
to forget—
they smoked
to make sure
you remembered.