I.
The burnt patches on your
Index finger have quietly been
Snuffing out the cigarettes you've
Been inhaling ever since
The start of this
****** conversation—
All too deep, I suppose.

II.
Your cigarettes remind
Me of my shriveled up crayons:
Wayward patches of yellow and
amber in between
Countless granules of
Fairydust;
Gaudy amalgamation
Of mirthless colors.

III.
As you leave the downtrodden
Sods of my mind,
I can't help but pick up
The stubs you've been grounding
Out all night.
Light a match.
Listless.

IV.
You'll be delighted to know
My bedroom walls now
Come in different
Shades of gray.