Breaking an idea

We were in my room,
smoking cones
until day bloomed
and as you stared at
the plastic stars
that hung on my
back. The notes
in your voice hit
my ears flatly
because the notes
didn't go
remarkably
with the atmosphere,
and thoughtless
fear wasn't going
to be intended,
because of it's relevance

and that broke
an idea i had
of women,
They're weren't
these omnipotent
beings,
they were just
like lighters

you got
a few good flicks
a few good sparks
they'll light up
a room like
the tail of a shooting star

but then the spark
wears out
or the gas
wears off
and you're
left with
an empty
shell that
can only be
recycled.