Today I smoked a cigarette,
the one you used to smoke when your heart was aching,
hoping that it would calm my heart, too;
but the poison filled my lungs and I coughed and grasped for air,
lost within the smoke of my very first cigarette.
I pressed it softly against my small lips,
and in agony of breaking it, I inhaled slowly;
I did not know how to hold it,
just like I never knew how to hold your hands,
maybe I should not have held you too tightly,
I think today,
while smoking my very first cigarette.
At the end of it, it does not taste too bad,
the slight burning at the end of my throat feels familiar,
just like your words,
or the lack of them,
for even now, I do not know which was worse,
when you did not talk and left me restless at night,
or when your words burried my tongue and left me speechless.
My very first cigarette comes to an end,
and I watch the sun set underneath the clouds,
sad and lonely I shut my eyes,
how good it would be if you remembered me,
the way you never forget your cigarette.
I took this picture from my kitchen window, in sad and lonely hours. Loneliness can be a devastating war inbetween the heart and mind of an individual.