You can stay, if you want to, she told me, blowing away

The smoke of past, present and future cigars

Seeming as distant and cold as the pale moon and I

Began to feel so useless in her arms, like a broken vase

With dried up flowers sitting in a remainder of a muddy water

And ever so foolish, like waiting in a queue for a monster roller coaster 

That I had no intention of riding.

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