Your thoughts always linger
And your audience holds their breath
Meandering on a word
Inhaling the scent of your cigarette
Watching as your smoke engages in a waltz with the wind
Who are you?
Really?
You never look in the mirror
You don’t need to
Or perhaps you’re afraid what you’ll see
And maybe a cold blue glance into yourself
May cease that suicide
Of your mind
Of that lingering word.
You blow smoke.
Who are you?
Really?
The audience is restless
Eager for that lingering word
The one that never leaves your lips
But dances in the smoke which flies from that stick
That stick always held between your fingers
They want to know.
You blow smoke.
Who are you?
Really?
Je ne sais pas
