it's 3:30 in the morning and i find myself sitting here unable to sleep and craving a cigarette more than i can tell you but at the same time trying to fight it. those little sticks of shreds of leaves surrounded by a little piece of paper to hold it all together and a cotton wedge at one end have hold over me and i admit that there are days when that makes me very angry. most days i just don't care though. people keep telling me to quit smoking. they tell me that it's bad for me. duh. thanks. news flash? probably not. it's not a matter of will i or won't i or am i capable of it. i can. i don't want to. i won't. not right now anyway. smoking still has a place in my life. i let it have a place in my life. i like it having a place in my life. frankly, i like being a smoker. it gives me something that i can't get anywhere else from anyone else. so i'll continue on my self damaging path and go out into the cold night and kill myself softly again and again. one day i'll stop. one day i'll be dead.