As the last cigarette
Burns itself down my throat
Leaving behind burning eyes
Filled with smoke
And as the late night movie
Takes its final bow…
I hold my breath within
Afraid of losing the fragrance
Of burnt skin.
I pick up my pen
Out of the obsessive compulsion
To describe what stirs inside
Just to grasp…
The longing to write the last lines about you
Yet she refuses to be ignored
And the last cigarette
Refuses to be burnt out
And I wait…
Smoke fills the room
Blurring my vision
Or, maybe, I have closed my eyes.
Certainty, is the cost
Of my last cigarette
It’s a pain to let go
Yet I know,
That you would kill.
As I refuse to put out…the last cigarette
I know I will return to you.
Holding fire is a pleasure
You can’t let go of.
But it’s not with pleasure
That my soul’s your slave
It’s not by choice but by a ‘un-understood’ force
That I bow…
To what I hope, dearly
To be my last cigarette.
4 comments:
I like the picture you've portrayed....its well stroked and strongly constructed....symbolism is good and expressive.....and emotion well....you never lacked in that.....it speaks about trying to put your foot down in the most difficult circumstances....good work...keep writing
Very nice, Very thoughtful.
hmmm............. impressive, dark..with a lot of subtle emotions.....dyying and alive...myriads of interpretations.... read twicce, thought of it in two different ways each time....amazingly written..... and a thoughtful symbolism used...
great...
By the way, cigarette smoking is injurious to health.
i feel that this poem has that rare impact-creating capability if blended with music
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