Of Cigarettes and Burning Memories

a cigarette is lit in the darkest corner
of her room, providing the tiniest speck of light.
she puts it in her mouth and inhales,
taking in every bit of its bitterness,
mixing the acrid taste with every aching
memory of everything she is losing tonight.
she plays the scene over and over in her head,
thinking of what she could've done different.
if she had only thought twice about gulping down
a handful of sleeping pills and drowning it with vodka,
if only she was not that much of a disappointment
to herself and to all the people around her,
if only she's got everything figured out,
if only she had some sort of direction in her life,
then maybe she would've never thought about doing this,
maybe she would have never thought that everything
was all so very easy to give up
but it's too late now, what's done cannot be undone.
it's too late to turn back now, she's come too far.
and as she thinks of all the things she's leaving behind,
she smokes on her cigarette,
the smoke providing such a dramatic background
for her nostalgic memories of love, loss, hapiness and grief.
she smokes on her cigarette as she waits
for the inevitable coming of her doom.
and as as she finishes her cigarette, she looks on
as she puts its fire out on her ashtray,
then she gets another one, lights it, and puts it in her mouth
as a tear slowly makes its way down her cheek.
this is how she chooses to grieve,
for lost hopes, lost dreams, lost sanity.
this is how she chooses to wait for the inevitable,
slowly, agonizingly, killing time,
with one bitter stick after another.

inspired by Susana Kaysen's memoir "Girl, Interrupted"