Secondhand Smoke

the ghosts of the drag flutter into the abyss and
i'm left with the cancer that chokes me with gentle
fingers. it slides past like a cold one on a hot day,
and i'm left with the burning while you flick the ashes
out the window like a fleeting memory.

but then you remember that i'm the fleeting memory,
while the suffocation process takes place one finger at
a time. the pressure isn't painful, but the sky feels like
a light bulb going out; dimming slowly. or maybe that's
my clouded mind trying to grasp at lunacy.

reality is losing me like an old friend i lost touch with.
i have it's number, but i don't have the desire to dial.
you take another drag and i'm sinking slowly to the
floor. it's not the smoke this time; it's the fleeting
memory that i'm going to be okay.

i'm a fleeting memory from a black out.
i'm the houdini you didn't want to get to know.
here today, and gone tommorow, in the puff of
smoke you used as a masquerade mask.
you always were too afraid to face the truth.