Above thousand city lights,
Lonely smoker, silent night.
Beauty, sufferings blend in sight,
Stood still, wanting to just smite.
Those same old pity dreams still hold,
Whether not there's still a road.
Yet nothing done to outgrow mould,
Most his efforts have been sold.
How shy this scum is to his frights,
Trapped so long beneath it's might.
With the end of cigarette light,
I wonder when he'll take his flight.
©emily_cjw
E