My last cigarette
Doesn't have the same affect as the first one.
The nicotine doesn't take the pain away anymore,
Doesn't fix that emptiness in my chest.
That's still there.
Just filled with smoke for only an instant.
Oh well.
At least the red glow adds a little colour to my life
When everything else around me
Is dull,
Boring,
Uninteresting,
Lifeless.

There used to be another colour besides the red of the embers:
Green,
In the Iris of her eyes.
Waking up to them in our own little place in a broken city,
To them staring at me
With a slight glistening
And a pretty, grey smile
That made the rising sun seem irrelevant.
It was a beautiful sight,
One a Polaroid couldn't quite capture ,
Or paintings quite express.
How could something so wonderful exist in a world so colourless?
I wish I knew,
But I'd never know,
And I'd never be ready to lose it.
Even after you left.

Nothing has given me quite the same feeling
Of happiness and curiosity,
Because no matter how hard I look
In any direction,
I see the same shades of nothing everyday,
And walk through these streets full of people, full of activity,
But it feels so dead.
I'm so tired of it.
I miss the green that lit up the world in the most miraculous of ways, that made it prettier.
It's a stunning sight.
And I'm still in a daze countless packs later.

I used to think it would always stay that way, us together,
Taking on the blackness of reality.
I should've known better.
I was a fool.
I'm sorry.
Now you're gone,
And cigarettes can't replace you.

Since then,
and every night on,
I light a cigarette,
My new lover,
And count all the ash I've let fall.
I've lost count ages ago.

But I'll light another one, anyway.
So here's to you, sweetheart.
Here's to our memory,
Our lost possibilities,
and those pretty emerald eyes of yours.

~