My Last Cigarette

I strike a match and feel the pull

of one more — catch the flame,

it flickers like regret —

my last cigarette.

You used to smoke them down in pairs,

with jars of sin and worn-out stairs.

Now it’s just me and ashes past,

the first, the last.

And in that glow I can’t forget —

my last cigarette.

My last cigarette.