Pollution

Nothing left

Nothing at all

Just a smoldering cigarette in the edge of a tin box

Because who could find a real ashtray, after all

Crashing waves of reality hit one by one

Does it hurt?

Maybe it does

Maybe not

One cannot be sure

But the darkness of the water

Cannot be cleared

It’s black

Polluted to the core

Where seaguls of thoughts are trapped

Along with every inch of oxygen

And imagination