Charcoal filled grills and coffee stained mugs
with distinctly patterned couch cushions
and ash trays with limited timelines written all over
the ceramic pattern that hugged your forgotten nicotine
while cuddling up with a glass of scotch
that seemed to drop all of your worries
in such a mesmerizing way
maybe it was the parting of my lips
that made you question your decision
to drown yourself in the painted picture
of a future of a failed liver and charcoal lungs
I always wondered how you could carefully tie a tie
in such an intricate way
with a bottle of scotch engrossed in your veins
and a cigarette with your time of death written in fine print
so when i start to feel my veins and mind aching
for the color of death
I begin to lose myself in a photograph of you
with a carefully tied tie and well combed hair
and as I pull myself back into the reality
of your absence
I start to wonder
how could a person so lost
be so found
in all the wrong ways