The journey was never-ending,

But I had to stop and whisk out a cigarette to burn my tongue,

And whiskey, to coerce my lungs to beat on.

A matte slice of the moon glitters over the voiceless echo

Of a tar stained street and pavements of yellowing brick.

A drag, a second drag, a third; The smoke colors the wind

A shade of dim, like the one in a Persian restaurant that always smells of hookah.

I stare at the wavering white, breathing in the paradise

Coating my tongue with ashes of memories and dust.

I spit the bitter through chapped lips, and the cracks in the broken road

Swallow it whole and create this puddle of froth, dirt and me.

The flask nestles itself gently in the crevice of my punctured red,

As the vapors from my stick dance to their own music.

The ash falls to dust in the fractures of ebony and gray,

Disappearing in the grit yet to to be mended.

My car is dying, like burning coals in a pot

Forced to gulp a monstrous wave of water to kill the heat.

Dimming headlights are a definite sign,

So tells me every horror movie I’ve dared to watch in comfort.

I clamber to the inside of those walls, searching for one last kiss on the mouth.

It’s laborious to dig through pages of reminiscence

Just to find the lips of a lover forgotten two seconds ago.

Yes! I found it. I taste the familiar wetting of my lips.

I have an epiphany during the motion of the mundane.

This is what you do to lovers— you crave him like an elixir unknown to man,

You throw out your semblance to feed this obsession of never-ending,

And then, staring into the soon-to-be orange eyes,
You set him on fire.