The tree is lit
Questions fly and buzz
They miss me by an inch
My minds too far
Tangled in the distraction of a dream
Sipping a dark roast
Spiked with some holiday spirit
The lighter strikes on the third strike
The magic is passed as it’s held in
My lungs can’t hold it
Thinking I rather the silence to myself
I’m an asshole
Knowing I see these people only once a year
The room is full
Personalities in “bond mode”
They crash and coast
Everyone fixed knees deep
Alcohol and music in unison
Me just an alcoholic
Hard laughs
Drinks spilling and there’s no cares
It’s a good time
But for me
Zoned in a gaze
So deep no blink
You use to sit right there
Now I just hate Christmas

In the early 1900s, people believed that smoking cigarettes turned you into a homicidal maniac. The belief was so common that ‘cigarette fiend’ became a valid defense for murder, and the term often accompanied an insanity plea. Source

A signed pledge card from the Primitive Methodist Anti-Cigarette League:

The New York Journal from November 14, 1899, about a case of “cigarette fiend:”