here by the window
I die a little
quietly
every sunset
with a cigarette in my right hand
this is where I meet
with my restless,
my anxious,
my lonely,
my most volnurable
the soft spot
my breath refuses to reach
if it was not for the smoke
I lay my hands on the window frame
in all honesty
to look for you
I inhale the transformation
to survive
as the air turns cold
and the trees dark
I pinch the cigarette
like I crush a slatey rock as heavy as my heart
hoping for the light to return
with the hope
for just one more stroke
and if you should ever become uncertain
there is a small light
right here in my hand
even though it is hard to see
at night
but a new dawn will be
another chance to live
to the end
to end
another cigarette
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