ashtray full of unspoken words.

I told the Voices in my head:

“I’m okay. Everything’s fine.”

But the Voices whispered:

“Is it really? Look at your ashtray.”

And then I saw

the ashes flooding the table;

the crooked cigarette ends;

the rising stale smell of tobacco.

And I finally got it..

Nothing’s okay.

Because I’ve been smoking my problems

and now my lungs hurt
as well as my mind.

V.