Cigarette ends tell stories,
to the untrained eye it's poetry wasted,
like an overfilled ashtray that's quickly exposed of,
so eagerly started and ending so unfulfilled,
why do we always enjoy the beginnings
when the best part is meant to be the end..

Cigarette ends tell stories,
so many that will never reach the stage,
but I wonder the most common theme.
Escape, in hail, love, loss, longing,
to the mystery of what interests me.

Cigarette ends tell stories,
memories embedded in their remnants,
so many stories,
I want to know of them.