Evening

I'm breathing the smoke of fruit cigarettes, One's already burnt; I am craving for more. I'm lighting the last one with no regrets - If you were beside me, it well could be four. I'm slowly turning the key in my lock; It usually takes me two minutes or three, But I have been blind to the obstinate clock - Alas, there is no one waiting for me. My room has no present but treasures the past; Its walls will recall every breath that we share... I'm feeling so cold. I break down at last: My papers will choke on the ink of despair. My heart's like a violin's sound, unclear; It's out of tune for a permanent matter. I'll sign all these verses with only one tear And seal with a sigh just to send with a letter.