From fingertips

the smoke does rise.

With heavy introspection

the cigarette kisses lips,

each new deep inhale

questions are consistently

being asked

one after the other,

and to the next.

The wrong answers fall

and lay on the ground.

In a room that is all muddy,

we start again,

the air is so hard to breathe.

Today is 100% voluntary

sitting in this chair

a deep inhale

you can hear the layers burn red hot.

With a huge exhale

the ash extends itself

hovering now just on the edge

cigarettes have long since

been dropped by friends.

Tension in the room builds,

questions keep getting harder

it’s hard to keep the answers straight

when you’re struggling

to keep the story straight.

On the edge of the chair

nerves nervously sit,

the obvious move is to keep quiet

to simply sit and do not speak.

Hands react to the news

there’s a surprise

a witness to reveal the truth

in amazing colorful detail.

It’s then that the ash falls,

the once vibrant cigarette

struggles now to burn.

Extinguished and no longer there

the lingering questions return,

the room turns in confrontation.

A bizarre mix of confidence and greed,

pupils shrink and tighten

their laser focus is sharp.

The room freezes

at a final admission,

but before we go any further

the question is asked,

“Can I bum a cigarette?”

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