Carpet
I roll ash between finger and thumb
And grasp at the inevitably shrinking
Blunt end of my Winston Light
As it falls to the floor
Forever losing sight of
What it was
What it is
And what it could have been
Had I not struck a match
And sucked a flame through its core
Listening to the plea it exudes
Nothing but a soft crackle, really
Funny how
I found the end that turns to cinder
The filter would have only melted
But still existed
No, I've degraded it
Defiled it
And haven't even allowed it a resting place
Other than dirty carpet
Filled with the remains
Of so many who came before it
So many I've embedded into these fibers
With the rubber sole of my shoe
Dear Winston
A testament of my purpose here
Coddle with my lips, only to incinerate
Those who began whole and now crumble with my fire
But also a statement of your own
You were made for this
You are a willing participant
Slowly morphing me black and graveled
I will revel in every second
Of your filth
Soiling the crevices of my fingertips
Then I will lick them clean and start again