Broken wings (A Poem)

A drop of blood trickled down my eyes,
tears i thought.
I put the glass of whiskey on the table,
stub the cigarette butts in that skull shaped ashtray,
overflowing with ashes and stale ends of the burnt out sticks.
I look at my brown nails, feel the nicotine patches on my lungs.
The twilight filters through the broken glasses of my window,
two moths, resting on the orange lamp shade, fly away, disturbed
by that smoker's cough once again.
Blood from my mouth, from nostrils
gush out.
I get up, grip that old godrej almirah,
rusting in one corner of the room.
Then I see her, or I don't ?
Some faded images, float around.
A lizard falls down, dead.
Broken wings of a butterfly, still stuck to its mouth.