Ashtray

A Poem by Patsy

No one ever tells you good habits die just as hard.

You always told me to quit smoking. I always told you I'd do it but only if you quit me first because I didn't want to admit there was something I loved more than the walls I had put up. They had stuck with me even when I didn't realise how much I needed them. I don't think I realised I needed you more so I pretended I didn't. You should have left. I gave you so many reasons to but it's like you were clinging to what the good days were like, when I'd wake up early for the chance to see you before you left for work, when I'd leave my lighter on the bedside cabinet and my lipstick would stain your skin rather than the end of a cigarette. I'm not sure if those days outweighed the harder ones.

I tried to repair myself without you knowing. I wasted far too many late nights spent on the streets, breathing in stardust, hoping it would make my heart as beautiful as you told me I was on the outside. Instead it burned and I tried to scrape away the scar tissue before you noticed it. It didn't go away until you kissed me but that's the thing about pain, it doesn't just disappear, it moves to a new host. That sickening parasite worked it's way from my heart to yours from the minute you decided to love me. You didn't seem to notice or, if you did you didn't want me to blame myself. Maybe you were hooked on who I could be, who we both wanted me to be. The fantasy clogged your lungs like tar but you were willing to go through that with the hope that I could heal.

The only difference between you and I was that an ashtray was easily smashed and forgotten but a heart is never irreparable, there's always a glowing ember left and if you're not careful, it can raze everything to the ground, leaving only rotted foundations.