Words were a cigarette.

Tangled with the green umbrella.

I hear laughter, ill at ease.

Was that me? I wonder in awe.

Grey clothes. A smoke in hand.

Words are smoke, such a charm.

Thoughts trying way too hard.

At ease and calm, but the chaos hidden.

They have found a place to grow.

But no, it seems wrong.

Anger in the ashes.

The smoke's all air now.

Futile and basking in the hit that remains.

Knowing well, that it's not going to last.

Charred lungs and a moment gone.

Maybe it was worth it.

Change, it's a constant.

But my thought's, they're a blunder.

Break somthing, the inner voice chants.

Burn the lighter itself.

Wish it was possible.

Atleast I know that smoking is injurious to health.

Guess it's all for the best.

I throw the cigerette butt onto the ground.

Sparks fly.

Wish I could save it.

I stare at it for a while.

And then, I step on it.

I killed the machine.