i am your cigarette.
you ignite a flame in my morale.
soon you bring me up to your lips and
take me in;
i’m letting you.
you’re the wrong person, but i’m giving
you all my right pieces.
i’m running out of things to give you,
and the smoke is clearing.
i collapse onto the floor,
and with one last goodbye,
you put me out with the heel of your
notorious doc martens.
it is so painful to listen to the cadence of your steps away from me.
what’s even more agonizing
is watching you pull out another from
your pack of cancer
and lighting her the same way you lit me.

but then again,
i was never good for you, either.