the nights drag on
like a stale cigarette
the smell clinging to every fiber of your being
the cold only making it linger longer
like the cold wind to warm flesh
slowly suffering a silent death
nothing you do seems to help
so the warmth you felt before is just
a distant memory
so I find it funny, how
I'm sitting here on this long night,
smoking a stale cigarette that I
got from a stranger
clinging to the warmth
while I lean out the window on a 13-degree night
I realize that I am the night that drags on,
I am the stale cigarette from a stranger,
& I am the cold wind.
so, how do I become the fire?
Like
Share
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.