• wordsandweapons 9w

    You spark the lighter like it was a ritual,
    Like the sunrise you waited for after pacing the house into the small hours of the morning.
    Stumbling drunkenly like a lost cause all dressed in moonlight,
    Like the embers of a slowly dying fire
    That has been left to snuff itself out.
    Waiting just waiting,
    To watch the smoke
    Like a contortionist dance around your perfect lips.

    -K. Moran