Recently, I received an email from an artist who reached out in a moment of sheer desperation. Having tried and failed to quit smoking countless times, he felt he was finally at the end of his tether. I reassured him that no matter how long you’ve smoked, there is always hope—and we’ve since scheduled a session together for early next month. Touched by our conversation, he opened up and shared a raw, heartbreakingly honest poem detailing his long struggle. He kindly agreed to let me share it on my blog (under condition of anonymity) in the hope that it might resonate with anyone else fighting the same battle. Here is his story: “What Nicotine Has Done to Me” “Thirty years of morning coughs, Of standing in the freezing rain, Thirty years of chasing relief From a self-inflicted pain. I used to think it was a friend, A comfort in the misery— Now I open up my eyes To what nicotine has done to me. It took my breath, it took my cash, It stole the scent of spring away. It made me run on panic’s clock, Calculating every day: How many left? Is the shop still open? Can I slip out silently? A prisoner to a paper tube— Look at what nicotine has done to me. It sold a lie of quiet calm, A trick to ease a nervous mind, While secretly it built the cage It trapped me in, behind. It turned my strength to inner doubt, My self-respect to shame, Fishing ash from filthy trays To feed a habit with no name. I hate the smell, I hate the trap, I hate the lack of dignity— I look into the glass and weep at What nicotine has done to me. No child ever dreams to grow And live bound to a chemical drag. No lover wants to kiss an ash, No life belongs inside a bag. And yet I sit on backroom steps, Conflicted, tired, and rarely free, Exposing every lie I believed about What nicotine has done to me. The chain breaks here. The fog must clear. The illusion finally falls apart. It never eased a single fear— It only stole a healthy heart. I’m taking back my breath, my mind, My future, and my liberty, And closing up the chapter on