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