She smokes.

Her lighting of that cigarette

Is her silent rebellion against, everything, she should do.

Because she shouldn’t, and she knows it.

But she puts every little pain and pain in the ass
At the end of that white stem of paper
And lights it on fire,
Burns the end like she’s at burning woman:
Letting go ...
Of a minute that
Will follow her around...
For the rest of her life!

She shouldn’t, but we cant stop her.
Maybe, she will, someday.

In the meantime,
She’s pushing out a part of her
Into the air.

Somehow, in the nicotine, she looses
Something of her:
Particles of letting go sticking to the smoke.