This is the first of three that got published in the Statesman ages ago. Thought I'd share. Don't think any of you reads that paper.
Curling skywards from the end of a burning fag;
My thoughts heavenwards ascend.
Or mayhap, like the smoke wafting into nought,
Half-done, they die in silence
And my half-lived life
In futility continues,
Like a stamped-out, half-smoked cigarette.