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Ah… cigarette…

Tell me…

why do you burn so brightly, my friend?

Every time your ember glows,

it is as if the night remembers your name.

And every time you disappear…

it feels as though breathing itself

forgets its way home.

You burn…

slowly…

patiently…

toward your ending.

And I?

I flicker in the wind beside you,

waiting…

for my own extinguishing.

⸻

Look at us.

The feet that crush you into the pavement,

the same feet,

the very same feet,

return tomorrow

to light you again.

What a strange kind of love.

What a strange kind of mercy.

⸻

And those ashtrays…

those polished little graves…

do not trust them.

They were never built for your comfort.

They were built

to make destruction look respectful.

To make consumption look civilized.

You mistake the gesture for kindness,

while all along

you are being lifted to the lips

only to be burned.

⸻

And when you are gone,

one small existence ends.

A curl of smoke.

A pinch of ash.

A forgotten stain on someone’s fingers.

That’s all.

But when I burn…

when my flame finally reaches the center of me…

an entire universe disappears.

Every memory.

Every dream.

Every face I carried inside.

Gone.

⸻

Still…

there is not much difference between us,

is there,

you little stub?

Because you…

you were plundered by the world.

Taken apart

piece by piece

until nothing remained.

And I…

I was plundered

by my very own.

By the voices I trusted.

By the hands I reached for.

By the people whose names

still echo inside my heart.

⸻

And tonight,

beneath the same dark sky,

we both continue

to burn.