Don’t kid yourself -
You were never pure.
Vulnerable, yes, but never pure.
Your soul is stained by the charcoal smoke
That swirls in tendrils,
Enveloping your face, your heart, your words -
Obscuring your intentions.
Your body is held together by trails of gleaming tar
Stretched like the truth
To accommodate your innocence.
Don’t you know by now?
I can see through smoke.
I can catch your gaze and tie it down,
Dissipating your clove-scented insincerities
To look into the gaping dark within -
I may be intoxicated, but not by you.
I am as lucid as the fiberglass shards
That crackle in your cigarette,
Aware of every strained breath
And every muted heartbeat
And every whispered promise.
Don’t kid yourself -
You were never pure.