When you count time By cigarettes smoked

You watch each grain of ash 

Fall onto the cold brick beneath 

Your feet. 

With each inhale,

You feel a pang in your chest, 

And it reminds you 

You’re not dead yet 

But you’re on your way. 

And with every burnt filter

You smear beneath your boot 

It reminds you 

That’s one second closer to oblivion.

And cigarettes smoked may or may not outnumber

The ones that are waiting for you,


Yearning to move you forward

To someone that you may or may not be one day.  


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