I can't give up

My life's like smoking cigarettes
In which it makes no sense:
Dull pleasure choked in sore regrets
At my own Love's expense.

I could always simply quit
And it would be the same
For everyone who'd think of it
And then forget my name.

But it would be the worst of news for those who borrow smokes from me
For they'd lose their lame excuse
To be the things that they can be.

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