goodbye cigarette

I take her out of her cardboard coffin and stroke her rough white skin. I make sure she knows that in the morning it’s goodbye. ‘We’ve been here before’ she chuckles, ‘ No , not here’. Her smile vanishes, she’s never heard me speak in this tone of voice.
We’ve broken up before, but when I see her with others, especially friends, it’s too much and I slowly let her crawl back into my life.This time things are different,I’m letting go, cutting the chord, anyone else is welcome to her, let her orange lips caress their mouths. I’ll no longer be tempted back .
I place her standing on tiptoe, balancing on my kitchen windowsill.There I’ll let her sweat out the night. She looks nervous, standing there naked and exposed to the dark with dead flies as unfamiliar company.It’s starting to sink into her filtered head that I’m serious this time. I go to bed with the artificial 5 minutes of health she gives.As my eyelids droop I feel her eyes piercing through the brick walls after our goodnight kiss.She stalks me to my dreams, begging for me to stay with her.
Morning, my chest clouded and heavy. The curtains open to a clear November morning. I shower,change clothes and dither for a while.Usually we’d be together earlier, but I want to enjoy her this last time. The mist clears from my chest, I feel the squeeze of addiction in my stomach. The blood in my arms tightens and squirms up my arteries cascading down my shoulders leaving a warm ,uncomfortable tingling . I fidget with air and scratch my scalp.Coffe, 3 sugars, it’s time.
I sweep her off her feet and place her in my between my quivering lips. The moment we touch, my mouth relaxes and she curtsies to the lighter.She burns and pours her passion into my mouth whilst crying smoky tears that fall to the kitchen ceiling.The nicotine massages my muscles and flicks the trip switch in my head for the last time.
My thoughts linger to the very first time.France, where I desperately wanted to be cool at the uncool age of 14.Clumsily burning her underbelly with a fake zippo lighter. Kissing her with lips ready to play the tuba.After this sloppy start I learned quickly and took to her,carving out my own technique which gave me the important delusion of being cool. I remember a few months later back at school in Cardiff, actually needing her for the first time , a small sacrifice to be cool, I thought. I’ll just use her for a while, nothing serious. Here I am 8 years later saying goodbye at the end of a long dirty road.
I take a sip of the coffee to compose myself before saying the last goodbye.The sugar pushes the coffee into a chorus role to take centre stage on my tongue.My thumb caresses her warm cheek to acknowledge that it wasn’t all bad. There were some good times.Hiding under the moon from my parents and dreaming of my escape from teenage shackles.Moments shared with others she was with, a common ground where it was easier to speak freely.She did give as well as take.
The last kiss, her lips wet and sad. The smoke says goodbye to my lungs with the feeling of a last visit to well liked bedroom it had decorated to it’s own morbid taste. I walk her to the window and there I let go.She falls to the hard mud and her tears thicken in the cold.I exhale to the fresh air where the smoke doubles in mass..I pour my coffee on her to stop the crying. I miss, but the coffee creates a pool which soon engulfs her.As she drowns I hear the last crying wail of her fire distinguished.
I turn my back on her and return to the lonely kitchen and cough, a deep growling cough which makes me bow to the floor.My lungs feel clogged with rocks like a cave in an earthquake. I recover and sit sipping stale water that’s been sitting there for days.Her voice in my head like a bitter answer machine message, ‘I’m gone now, but I’ve left my mark’.