O Burn-ed Butt of a Cigarette

O burn-ed butt of a cigarette,
lying there sidewise,
all scrunch-ed up
in the dirty ashtray,
why did I smoke you
down to your filter,
full of tars
and nicotine
and who knows what?
Because you were mine
and I wanted to
is why;
that's why.
What were you to me?
A moment's pleasure,
a soft glow;
no more,
no more.
Can you ever be replaced
in my breath,
in my blood,
in my voice,
in my heart?
Already another glows beside your corpse,
lying there sidewise,
all scrunch-ed up
in the dirty ashtray.