Charcoal Man

He takes a drag from the 

One thing that's scared of him.

He snuffs out its light each time

He's done with it.

Nicotine flows through his veins

Like a snowboarder on a 

Black Diamond; quick and 

Fearless.

He doesn't care that others can smell it

Because he can, and it smells 

Like home. If only the smell of whiskey

Could be mixed in.

Too many sleepless nights have caused this

Habit to take form.

An invisible Devil inside telling him

To slowly waste away.

The slow burn of the paper ignites

Something in him that no one else 

Can; or maybe, he hasn't even let

Them try.

So burn on charcoal man,

Made of paper and flame.

Someday you'll feel the sting of the tar;

Someday you'll breathe fire.