Cig

I stub out my cigarette

the end detaches itself softly, lies on the ground

burn burn

by itself

slowly, taking its time

it could burn for seconds or

minutes or years.

One tiny spark

another tiny

spark

I look for a pen

capture it

life burning, sparks catching the air.

Look back,

blown away.

If you were to die tomorrow, what would you do?

Kill myself now, probably.

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