A MATCHSTICK THAT FAILED TO LIGHT

Insomniac behavior in the hour of the witch:
Woke up, did I to give company to the nocturnal.
Nor reason, nor rationale not even an intuitive hitch
Had an overpowering compulsive need to get the ash feel.

A sudden urge to witness the amber ends of a fag,
A sudden thirst to inhale the vapours: gray, dusky and slick.
A passion that whizzed past the statutory tag,
An appetite that even sleep couldn’t trick.

But failed I, to find my fag an accomplice.
Ruffled through the pile of paper junk: Scanned the overflowing wooden drawers
Even tried to let go of my whimsical caprice.
Consumed my spines twice over, let go of the wet dreams
But I did finally find: twisted, moist but nevertheless an ally
A matchstick to execute my passion, a matchstick to set my fag ablaze.

Alas, the fag found itself ditched
Left in the lurch by the perfidious match that failed to light.
A fag ditched, an impulsive passion unfulfilled
As Senor Sleep took command for the rest of the night.