Smoke drifts up and up,
As cigarettes sweep into her lungs
perfectly in sync with her heavy breathing…
From the end of the slim white stick
Residual ashes fall, cold and powdered.
She can hear it singe- the paper burning;
She can feel the thing- a beautiful sadness inside her soothing;
Almost done now.
The empty filter of tar burns and comforts her life’s lies….
Hoping to taste Marlboros someday, she smiles.