Throw me away because I'm no longer useful to you
Like a matchstick that won't light the second time you scrape it against the red phosphorus siding of the box
"That's okay," you think, "there are dozen's more in this box".
"Fresh ones, ones that will perform their initial function". you think, "This is certainly easier than trying to make the first match work again".
What you failed to realize
Is that there was spark left in me
But you lacked the effort to ignite it
I become more resilient at the bottom of a trash can With a bit of white phosphorus left at the end of my bulbous tip
I watch you light the next match... with ease, too.
Hold it to your cigarette...
Watch that burn down...
Until the filter touches your lips...
And you forget that matches even exist.