Ash Tray.

Cigarette ash on my laptop;

I hate crying,

But here I am,

Just like old times.

Life goes wry so easily,

Twisting a grin to mock the mirror;

We are merely grim cathedrals,

Haunted by the ghosts within.

Yet we are always looking up,

Placing blame with acid rain

And the desolate seasons of snow.

I am so cold,

So out of touch with life,

That I am unable to breathe.

I am drifting through a fog;

I dream of warmth,

Of my lover’s hands in mine.

I am so unwanted; I can feel it.

Lukewarm, I will be spat quickly out of your mouth,

With no second chance to warm my frozen heart or clear my troubled head.

 

 

Reviews

[Wolfwind Words]

This piece was facinating. It seemed to blend an outpour of emotions with the actions of smoking. Yet, I got the feeling the smoking part was an analogy that was meant to refer back to the feelings of things being short lives, just as a cigarette is.

Very deep. Made me think.
Good work!
Wolfie