Poetry,  Written literature | Author's writings

A cigarette

He has been searching
for something, someone, ever since.
For the moment that will last,
but choose to stop
when it gets too heated.
He wanted someone to sway his mind,
to warm his heart.
He never knew
that in this uncertain pursuit
he would come across her.

A warm-hearted girl,
with the will to love
and the desire to be desirable.
He knew she would be helpful
for the moment, never for eternity.
The creator of this game,
it wasn’t difficult for him to get her,
to let himself restrain her.
To let her burn him.
She was a cigarette, and he was on fire.
He was always cold, but he had her.
On the old bench, two young beings,
committed to one another,
in mutual enjoyment.

He didn’t know the crisis was going to hit him
much faster than winning in his own game.
He continued to enjoy it,
until dawn and after.
That night he finally understood
that the taste of her hidden beauty
may vary
and can bring on to the sin of anyone who has tried it.
Whoever comes to the end
will carry a burn on their lips,
words will burn forever on their tounges.

He left,
but she didn’t stop burning.
She lived,
but no one could touch her.
He let her live,
but he surely killed her essence.
Too late,
she wasn’t safe.
Now she’s the one waiting,
looking to find someone
who won’t use her,
who will admire her?
Find someone
who won’t burn her
and thread her,
leave her forgotten.
Someone who will love her dark side,
that it will shed light on someone else’s darkness.

Even today,
her thoughts remain the same.
He could have been
a hiding place from everything for her.
If he hadn’t used her,
she would be useful now.
If he hadn’t lit her with a kiss,
he wouldn’t bear her scars now.

He took another cigarette,
to be late once again.
And another one, one more time.
Wearing all the wounds
and letting out bitter sighs
as he releases smoke after smoke,
he decided to stop,
to leave the last cigarette
on the old bench.
Now it has
a place for only one.
But what he realized,
watching passers-by
how they thread on dirty, forgotten cigarette butts
is that addiction comes from another place?

And this type of addiction doesn’t plan to leave him
to breathe the air that he once
took away from someone only to keep him from cold.

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