Sick guy you are.
I know you love to tear up when I blow smoke in your face.
I know you want My ashes on your tongue.
I know you want My burn in your mouth.
Look at yourself, staring with your eyes glazed over and your lips parted, hoping for a flick of My sucking-stick.
I even know about your secret desire to be beneath My high heel, like this cigarette butt I crush beneath My shoes.