Slow-Burning Papers

It was a full moon tonight.
That means world wide light
for everyone who looks up.

I ran out of cigarettes looking up at that fat gloating eye,
downward glaring like so much ash.
The funny thing about cigarettes,
is that since the late 90's they burn slowly.
Fire safety laws.
And if you let them, whilst you stare blankly at an empty sky
 (with no stars and a bloated yellow wraith looming over you),
they go out.

Quietly, giving no notice of their silent death.
It's not until that jarring taste of cold stale air
that you realize whats happened.
And even then they don't taste the same, even if re-lit.

I don't like where I'm headed,
but there doesn't seem much of an escape from the grim rail I've boarded.
No more stops after I stepped on.
No pulley to let them know I want off.

Just slow-burning papers,
and an even slower decay of self respect.