Cigarettes

Cast a light upon the flame,
Burn the lungs with open fire.
Scream aloud the empty name,
That hides beneath the heart’s desire
 
That is all it is. The smoke
And ash and flaky lives
Of worn out stories and witless joke
That cut like blunt and molten knifes.
 
Purity and pain are partners,
Each with their own words to say.
And with fine song they find two dancers,
Love and hate that come to play.
 
I lit one when I met you.
Then I lit two more the day you left.
And in that smoky solemn residue
My open heart was left bereft.
 
The only thing that plainly stayed
Was the fire cracking inside my lungs.
The only tune that always played
Called hate over love with callous tongue.
 
They are always the same.
Always deadly and, in dying, good.
I’d trade each time I heard your name
To smoke one if I could.