Greek Blood

The lingering scent of a burned out cigarette still haunts the air.

 

Creeping in all the dark places of his room like all the vague memories he tries to forget.

 

His age has clearly caught up with him through the years;

 

he notices the wrinkles carved into his face through the shattered fragments of a once beautiful mirror.

 

It seems the youth of his greek blood no longer holds its own as it did once before.

 

 A flurry of anger surges through him,

 

and he grabs his whikey glass and sends it sailing across the empty room.

 

He no longer had a woman to take his anger out on as he did so many times before.

 

She left him long ago. With a huff he sits down and reaches for another cigarette.

 

In the silence he watches the smoke dance across the room.

 

The same sad routine thats played over and over as many nights before.