Refusal to Dust

Dust floats down as I kick around the artifacts of my life.

And it coats my fingers as I brush off my lies, once in awhile.

And in the residue, you are there.

Like the graphite that coats this page,

You coat my lungs,

Like the cigarette I smoke in secret,

Which is anything but,

With you watching me there.

It is hard for me to die quietly.

And alone,

With the shadow of your eyes watching,

Through the soot on the mantle of my parent's fireplace,

As I decide not to pour another, and flick off the light,

In the streaks that dance across my vision,

I see you there.