CIGARETTE

From the millions,he chose me-
me;
that fooled me,
I was elated,
floating in the skies
thinking straight wasn’t an option.

He lit me up;
I felt like a relic-
a 12th century tunnel torch,
I alone burning to a king’s delight.
He lit my life
It was only natural I thought I lit his.
That was the problem:I thought,
yet thinking straight wasn’t an option

A trophy.
A symbol of conquest:
paraded-before his friends.
He held me and I thought of forever;
his lips-so soft,
his breathing-so calm,so reassuring,
I touched my heaven.
With the feelings I felt,
thinking straight wasn’t an option.

Puffs to his delight,
Puffs to my demise.
The way he held me
I was blinded to see my end,
I lived for him
But to him I was a moment,
a passing unnoticable moment:
like the smoking of a cigarette after
lunch.

Puffs to his delight,
Puffs to my demise:
He the smoker,
I the cigarette.

Thinking straight wasn’t an option.

© Moraa Ong’angi