Weary of the tears my eyes and pen created to paint you and your memories
I replaced the pen with a cigarette, holding it between my fingers
To suck in the truth that you no longer care
To blow out the smoke along with thoughts of you
To flick off the ashes of love we once lived
But every time I puffed, the cloud of the smoke created your face.
Disclaimer: Smoking cigarette in poems is not injurious to health; however, the heart may ache for a while.
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