2nd person short
You started smoking today. You say it burns and tastes like shit, but you think you'll continue doing it, mostly for the style points. Cancer couldn't possibly catch you. Not with those new shoes you just bought. You can run way faster and jump way higher than any deadly disease. That new girl in your English class has a cute face, and the spanish necklaces she wears always catch your eye. She notices you sneaking glimpses of her, and smiles when she catches you. Your shy, turn red, and immediately look the other way hoping she didn't see you. You see her smoking outside after class. You want to share one with her, make small talk. Life, death, inhale. The rambling rants running through your head, which you think are poetic and original, really are shit and have already been done. Exhale. You think, "Man, that was awe inspiring alliteration, rambling rants running, rambling rants running, rambling, rants, running." But when you turn it into your editor he takes one look at the opening sentence, ashes his smoke, hands you back the paper, than snatches the paper back and proceeds to wipe his ass with it. Hoping this guy is a good wiper, and hasn't left any trails since his last bowel movement, you stand there with a glazed over smirk, as if you've seen this before. You crave a cigarette. You need a cigarette. You need the nicotine to scratch and claw the inside of your lungs, wasting away every last ounce of oxygen to black. Nicotine. Need. Now. Nicotine dreams is all you see.