Nikki R. // NIKKI(TINE)

Smoke that leaves a cigarette,

can never reappear.

Laced with cancer,

my mother inhales it, again and again.

From one a day, to

a pack another,

slowly falling into a realm of darkness.

Dark, like her wrinkling,

under eye skin.

Yellow teeth, bad breath;

the least of her problems.

“I’ll try to stop,” she says,

reacting to her daughter, Nikki, sobbing.

Funny that, Nikki’s just a nickname;

an addiction.

But my mother will defeat it, she’ll stand up,

sweep the ashes off the ground.

As Nikki rings the rehab door,

the cigarette falls to the floor.

 

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