cigarette
a death wish
cancer on a stick
we inhale it
and hold it all in
like our emotions
this poision
soaking in our skin
our blood curtling
and our body tasting
this desease-ridden habit
of sitting outside
and becoming smoke stacks
our bodies, ours
the two of us
in a pack of 22
burning away,
as our youth is the ashes
contemplating our woes
carrying on like drones
into the valley of expectations
as we drop our nicotene
onto the ground.
the butts slowly dying out like the rest of us.
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