I am a cigarette to you.

You lit me up,
and I burned slowly,
and you enjoyed my simple highs,
and got dizzy from my insides.

You began to crave me,
addicted to the sensations I gave your mind,
reliant on the comfort I gave you.

But your fingers began to slip,
and I would burn you,
and I had no choice,
I was on fire.

Then I was nothing but a filter,
and you stomped me into the ground.

But in the end, I was killing you all along.

"You killed a man"
They say over and over
In his head
"You killed a man."
They repeat to him
Until he knows they can not be wrong.

He walks the streets
wondering if the eyes that glance him over
while they walk on by
know that on average
a person walks past a murderer
36 times
in their life.
"You killed a man"
He expects one of them to scream.

She is different
He knows this from they day they first meet
The voices go quiet
Almost allowing him to sleep.

He takes her on dates,
tells her
his hopes and dreams
though it is not until the night
they decide to combine their resources
in a cramped damp apartment
with a view of the sunset against the skyline
that he decides to tell her
the words that once were on
replay
inside his mind.

"I killed a man."
He whispers to her.
His voice bright
In direct contrast to the darkness
of the night.
As his hands tap the covers
Twice then once then twice again.

Her eyes caress him,
touching him in ways he knows can not be done
with hands
as he repeats
"I killed a man."
His eyes fixed on the ceiling,
Counting the tiles
To be sure
that 101
has not changed to 102
and the stain in the 81'st hasn't shifted to 22'nd.

He jumps at the feeling of her touch

Voice sharp
Hands soft.
"Tell me."
The demand
so quiet
he wonders if it was just the sound
of settling dust.

He turns to her,
Finds the question in her eyes.
It's a drastic change
from the haunted look he expected
if only to reflect
what he sees in the mirror every day.

"I killed a man." He says once again,
For the millionth time in his life
though only
the third
outside of his head.

Her fingers trace his face.
Thumb running across his lips.
She opens her mouth,
and quietly whispers the words he never dared to
even consider
"The man you killed,
was yourself."

"You killed a man"
They say over and over
In his head
"You killed a man."
They repeat to him
Until he knows they cannot
Be wrong.

He walks the streets
wondering if the eyes that glance him over
while they walk on by
know that on average
a person walks past a murderer
36 times
in their life.
"You killed a man"
He expects one of them to scream.

She is different
He knows this from they day they first meet
The voices go quiet
Almost allowing him to sleep.

He takes her on dates,
tells her
his hopes and dreams
though it is not until the night
they decide to combine their resources
in a cramped damp apartment
with a view of the sunset against the skyline
that he decides to tell her
the words that once were on
replay
inside his mind.

"I killed a man."
He whispers to her.
His voice bright
In direct contrast to the darkness
of the night.

As his hands tap the covers
Twice then once then twice again.

Her eyes caress him,
touching him in ways he knows can not be done
with hands
as he repeats
"I killed a man."
His eyes fixed on the ceiling,
Counting the tiles
To be sure
that 101
has not changed to 102
and the stain in the 81'st hasn't shifted to 22'nd.

He jumps at the feeling of her touch

Voice sharp
Hands soft.
"Tell me."
The demand
so quiet
he wonders if it was just the sound
of settling dust.

He turns to her,
Finds the question in her eyes.
It's a drastic change
from the haunted look he expected
if only to reflect
what he sees in the mirror every day.

"I killed a man." He says once again,
For the millionth time in his life
though only
the third
outside of his head.

Her fingers trace his face.
Thumb running across his lips.
She opens her mouth,
and quietly whispers the words he never dared to
even consider a possibility

"They were wrong."