Standing smoking under the front light looking out into the night on the step of another flat share which for a while I can dare to call home wondering when I will own a place of my own where I can kick up a stink or pile up the sink, where I can strike a light, where I can curse as loud as I like, where I don't have to take myself outside and stand staring at nothing with nothing but my key and the glow of my roll-your-own for company.
On my way home i see men standing outside their no smoking allowed rented digs having a silent ciggy.
this cigarette that I press against my lips, will do way less damage to me than you ever did. the taste will reside in my mouth momentarily, but it will vanish unlike your cherry chapstick that I'm trying to forget. smoke clouds swirl around me before the wind blows it all away— reminds me of the lingering memories of you I can't help but to replay. I might have a smokers cough someday, that's still better than enduring constant heartbreak. the pack in my back pocket is the only sense of relief I get from the agonizing daydreams, I still see how your dress ended at the seams. I was temporary to you, but you were permanent to me. . . exactly like all my bad tendencies.