I litter the city
With my cigarette butts
A long, sad trail
begging you to come
find me.

But you can't.
The wind blows
my breadcrumbs
to throw you off my scent.

They linger and they mingle
with the rest of the trash
left lying in these city streets.

It's a pattern left by all the lonely wanderers
begging to be followed
into the storm.