like the final drag of a cigarette, flicking the remainder of the butt onto the bitumen; crushing the light of my life under the heel of my boot to finally snuff out this disastrous relationship. the lingering taste of tar and ash settling into place, cleansing my palette. almost as if to save me from the after-taste of my hatred and disgust towards you rising up like bile.
the evening is cold, but nothing is colder than what's been left hollow by the end of you and i.
one.
whole.
year.
twelve months of nothing. no contact. no aspirations. no love between lovers. i've been living a lie this whole time, and the cold, hard reality of it is far worse than even the coldest winter night.
the smoke in my lungs searing, sweetening the stinging of my throat as i choke back the insults and the anger. the fire in my heart ignited into a blaze of emotions more volatile than the sun; ready to burn these bridges and leave you stranded on the other side. the ashes of the aftermath settle like grey sleet blanketing the world in one final moment of calm. it's clear you're only continuing to fuel a fire by mistaking petrol for water; quenching its growing, monstrous hunger. what follows is a righteous flame; so burn your heart. in the fiery pits of hell, my dearly detested.
but even now, in the cold quiet of the night, people keep telling me it's bad for my health. "a cigarette takes five minutes off your life," i'm warned by the curious onlookers, who are wanting the best for me as i light another.
but five fewer minutes is worth it; if it means you're hurting more than i am in the end.
