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