The smoke of the cigar reaches my lung, Air heavy with what I indulged. Bottles and glasses shatter by bare hands, Cuts bleed but not more than the heart can. But I love when it tears me apart, Now the bad blood will go to drain. Past is like an earthen pitcher That never gets filled. And when it does, They will complain how it leaked. The holes won't cease Now you bear with it. Sorrow ain't another word for rhyme, It's like a seed of apple Innocent from outside, But one day it will poison me till I die. But once I see there is no hint of light, I open my eyes to wake up at night. -Lavender Daisy Palak Solanki