Legacy Matches and Wasted Time

As I explained all questions
we headed for the basement;
a place of dust and rust
excusable for dirty habits.

Brought out matches
saved from a missed Mother.
He said, "Darling, do you know why we smoke so much?"
We have processed a thought
dragging us down...
tethering my careful woe.
He took out a match.
We inhale a drawl.
The stupid stick unfocused all
heavy internal thought.
When I quake and roll..
stammer and pace...
there's a conscience effort
to turn off reflection.

We always burn with thoughts:
Memories of his Mother
throwing an ashtray,
and myself
wishing I had better news.

Smoke and a shoulder
as I kill myself slowly
with legacy matches and the stupid sticks.
We already have the cancer
of an intellectual mind that would rather
be barreling through our greater work.
These days come and go like the smoke
stinking up the truth.
I'm just procrastinating what needs to be dealt with.

Let this burn for a moment.
There's a certain peace found
in legacy matches and the stupid sticks
when we stop talking
and decide to enjoy each other's company instead.
Silence isn't a waste of time
but addictions to fragments of zen
take time off my life.