Smoking Room, Pre Morning Meds Poem by Not Long Left

He cried inside and I saw his child
hand in hand they walked around
the lake, he stops and scatters
white blossom into her untamed hair.
I feel the crushing of his heart as he
stabs the ash tray with his cigarette.
I watched his world dissolve again
as he sighed out circling smoke.
In the smoky sanctuary of drifting
minds and tormented souls we confess
in silence.

In our box we are watched, tamed
by the tuneless static of the radio,
we are controlled by the indifferent
tones of the foreign fake smiling men.
In unmentioned similarity we stare
at the window and watch the world beyond.
We watch the seasons exchange their gifts.
four reminders of something lost.

He fumbles for his lighter, slumbering foward
in medicated movement.
He fires the tip, and finds her hands
He sucks harder to find a face,
He sucks harder but reality sweeps
away the last of the blossom,
And the room lights up again.