An old-ish poem - reworking...

Three Wishes…

The smell of Tobacco.
Black Ink Burning;
I write on everything;
Old habits, old sting,
My words my soul, caught aglow
I breathe deeply inhale my pain.
I Write away my sorrow,
On words my self sustain.
And so words from me do flow,
My smoking hands out of control,
I sit here burning away my soul.
It disappears in blue-grey smoke,
A wish or two it does provoke,
And I want to believe it no sick joke,
My hands in tears are long since soaked.
I’ve no friends saying lovely things,
I have no place to go;
I want for friendship, heart-healing slings,
But still my tears do flow.
As her words burn away,
Here I lonely, do obey,
I watch her writhe with just dismay.
As she leaves me empty handed,
Her ashes float and cling to me,
My only wish thus is granted.
I lift my eyes and pain to see
Without me, Strangers Play.

Shannon Hollender