the miserable life of a miserable teenager

fake plastic chips, every now and then.

Now I gamble with

my life, daily.

How’s that for change?

Every time I inhale the dancing smoke,

I hope that may be my last breath.

Then I exhale the smelly substance,

and inhale, because I’m not that lucky.

Then again, and again, and again.

Because at this point, no amount of puffs will give me the buzz, I so desperately crave.

Yet my body won’t cave?

Stubborn. Like me.

Understandable, I guess.