The Last Drag

Smoke curls like whispered secrets, An ashen prayer for the damned. She stares past the cracked glass, Eyes heavy with yesterday’s sins.

The city drips in muted colors— Grease, rain, neon regret— As she melts into the upholstery, A shadow in her own film noir.

The cigarette hangs loose, A final punctuation mark On a sentence She never wanted to finish.