Cigarettes

I feel like,
Your old cigarette.
Burned out,
Just trash,
Once I've been used up.
You breathed,
My poisonous smoke,
Deep into your lungs,
And you let it out.
The cycle had begun.
You smoked me,
Till I was nothing but ash.
Then you stomped me out,
I was just trash.
So next time,
You say you need me,
I'll be just another cigarette,
Sitting in your pack.

6/17/14 - 11:41 PM