It is better to burn out than to fade away…
Sullen hands grace the end of a cigarette
burning in flashes of orange before fading.
Weathered eyes stare at the ceiling
with focus fixed on a light bulb flickering, failing.
The light erodes like worn slipper soles.
Hours lug on, body locked safely in the velvet chair
that comforts a tattered body.
With one last breath the room disappears into black
like a magician in one quick puff of smoke.
Smooth, eager hands shoot towards the ceiling
to rid the fixture of decayed bulb like an unwanted tooth.
A fresh torch emerges in empty socket
and an explosion of light radiates from above.
Seconds fly, slick floors make firm legs wobble.
Crashing fast glass shatters on the ground
as blackness sweeps through the room once again.
Ashen whiskers scoff at such foolishness
but luminous eyes delight in the short lived beauty.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.