Damn that burnt stick

Crisp and crumbling

Brittle to the touch

Aromas freeing memories

Smoky and pungent

A cacophony of images cascading

Damming my mental stream

Unable to decipher or sort

I have hit a bottleneck

I have become catatonic

Frozen in the present

From fearing the past

That damn burnt stick

Must I always fear you

Am I to always be in withdrawal

When will the devil free me from his shawl

So the past can be in the shadows

And my future in the light.