I pulled out the blue lighter
you left in my car last night.
It was between your seat and mine
just waiting to be found.
I've decided to start smoking;
just give it a try
and see what all the fuss is about.
I must be immune -
the smoke doesn't affect me.
Not like you do.
It swirls and twirls around me
the way you do when we talk about "us".
It fulfills a craving
I never had until I started smoking.
You didn't exist until I met you.
A spark ignites somewhere in the darkness.
You fill me up with carbon monoxide.
You singe my emotions with ambivalence,
burning me up into ash
until there is nothing left.
My mouth feels like a charred, burnt cotton field.
Just like my heart.
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