One More Cigarette, Honey?

Struck matches ignite quickly,

And then burn brightly in your hand until you

Blow them out

And watch a stream of smoke

Curl into a smirk in the air.

You and I were like a book of matches.

Every converstation was a flame

I hungered for

And every disappointment

A means to blow it out.

An inferno can be a beautiful thing, but

I should have known better than to

Play with fire.

Now all I'm left with is a few charred matches,

A few burnt fingers,

And a pile of soot

That I'd rather sweep under the carpet

Like in a Mary Poppins movie.

I use my last match to light a cigarette

And I inhale the sweet air,

Tasting a hint of failure.

My lungs fill with smoke

And somewhere in my exhale

I become a cynic.