And on the second day

the London rain came down strong and gray, kept her at the flat.
The urge was great, but so was her might and she had no cigarette.
And came dark thoughts and burning fears, but knew its probably just the nicotine. Or the lack of it. No rhyme.
Played with thought, toyed with a flag, trying to flip it between fingers, did not break it, did not light it, hero of thursday, thy ashtray it dry.