via Daily Prompt: Percolate
It was the burning end of may
While lighting up the third one that day,
‘Filter’s a must’, you spoke.
You knew I was all broke.
‘You’ll die a li’l late’, you whispered.
I remember the way you stared.
Hunting for some guilt in my eyes
You glimpsed at me with a face so wise.
‘You need to stop it’, you requested.
‘Cause you always feared seeing me dead.
‘I’ll do whatever you want’, you assured.
You did nothing but surprisingly erred.
‘Don’t stop smoking pot’, I replied.
Deep down inside we both almost cried.
‘What are you saying’, you questioned.
All of a sudden you felt so burdened.
‘Just reduce it a bit’, I revised.
You thought I’m so biased.
‘But you’re a chain smoker, too’, you exclaimed.
For the first time I didn’t feel blamed.
‘I was never one, you made me’, I claimed.
I filled my soul with smoke for you to apprehend.
‘If I’m the root cause, I shall leave’, you mumbled.
The sorrow on this side got doubled.
‘I met you sane but not leaving the same’, you walked.
There was no pain here, just felt so mocked.
‘I introduced my lungs to death for you’
I said to myself gazing at my shoe.
The shoe which which had ashes on the sides.
I felt surrounded by huge tides.
‘You chose cancer stick over me’, I cried.
I did everything I could with utmost pride.
You told me about filter’s role so strong,
You carried a filter of your own.
You Percolated my belief in love,
You removed me like a pair of glove.
Just to hold that pot and cig,
In the hand you once wore a glove.
Ananya, the verbal seduction.