Mid-City, California, USA

You broke me.
And if love was money, like you thought it was, I would be broke.
But your love was not my cigarette—it was your second-hand smoke—
That I inhaled into my lungs, believing blindly it to be your fragrance.

For a while I thought you permanently broke me.
And if love was easy, like you thought it was supposed to be, I would stay broken.
But I read the hints and realized amidst the smoke
That I was choking on your unforgiving toxic fumes.

So I decided to step outside and start the engine.

The cycle runs again: intake - compress - combust - exhaust.
The oxygen is plentiful and I am roaring.
Now every day I fire up the four-stroke of my heart and wake the morning
Because I learned that evening that your deadly smoke
Was only a by-product of my fire burning.