By Jfarrell


As I put out my cigarette,

And glimpse the ashtray,

I can’t help but think

What a metaphor for my life

This is.


The dog-ends of past decisions,


Broken promises;

Drowning in the powdered ash

Long since burned.


The bottom of the ashtray,

Is stained ashen black;

Like Dorian Gray’s picture,

Inside me, is there a place,

That holds the scars of my mistakes,

Like dirty, filthy stains?


I can wash my ashtray;

Can I wash

What’s inside me?


I got cleaner,

I got scrubbing brush,


I gonna give it a bloody good try.


Author's Notes/Comments: 

yep, i am that dirty

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