The Ashtray
i stared at the ashtray
a trapdoor design
silent huffs and puffs
the haze, unseen, unfeeling
the bricks, mocking, urging
the dead fire still crackling, popping in my ears
the ashtray wants me. My soul
it smelt the dark mascara
pressed its ears against my rattling chains
my dark cloths only inviting its gaze
"touch me, taste me, and i shall be yours."
the wind briskly inviting its smell
now i lie in a cracked corner
rocking back and forth
Copyright © Jeremy Fredde | Year Posted 2010
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