You are the smoke from a lit cigarette

And you’re the ashes that fall from it too

Not to mention you’re the poison

That lurks inside the seemingly

Innocuous white paper

 

You’re the waves crashing on the beach

You’re the sets you can never quite escape

And you’re the water dragging me down

Drowning me deep under the sea

 

You’re the sting of vodka

The cold glass in my hand

You’re the trail of fire

Running down my throat

 

But you’re also the heat of a campfire

And the sparks dancing in the air

And the cool breeze blowing the smoke

Far far away from me

 

And I’ve yet to understand

How those two sides

How that oil and water

Coexist in one being

And I don’t think I ever will

 

And if you’re all that good

And all that bad

And all those metaphors

Wrapped up in your enigmatic self

What does that make me?

 

Does your being the cigarette

Make me the lighter?

Or does it make me the smoker

Who just can’t quit?

Does your being the waves

Make me the current?

Or the beach you’re crashing down on?

Does your being the vodka

Make me the bottle that holds you?

Or the alcoholic who can’t put you down?

If you ever get the answers to these questions, you know where to find me.