Like dregs from the drained mug..
The last nicotine sip was gone..
Floating smoke like lamina mist..
Circling phantoms in mid-air,
Mesmerizing…playfully…
Tauntingly…coming back..,
Like the Marah waters…
That could never be drunk,
Because of its bitterness,
Those wrenching memories,
Of past that shouldn’t have been..
Why can’t they crumble..?
Like these…these smoking butts..
Pangs of pain, like spasms of a stitch,
In the mind, or so you thought,
But then it's not there…
It’s in your heart…the twinge.. the pain,
Reverberating…clasping the innermost,
Recesses of your soul…
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