Her smile so cheerful,
Her laugh so blissful,
Her ways so gleeful,
Her eyes so dreadful.  
She's a happy girl,
She's a lucky girl,
She's a good girl.
She's a dead girl.

Shadows near the girl,
Making her hurl,
In this huge whirl,
Forever she twirl.
Yet she still smiles,
When named a coward,
For hundred miles,
She's being devoured.

She dream a dream in her sleep,
Where she could finally weep,
And what she sow she has reap,
Deja Vu was her words that bleep.

And I stood there
Surprised, at what he had just said.
He had failed to remember...
The Promise of fulfilling other promises.

The
distorted
feather of
cigarette
                 smoke
                                         trails
                              upwards.
             It dances
                                    on the
                                             first
                       wisp of wind;
escaping
                 the draw
                                 of cracked
                weasened
lips.
Lips
formed of
                                      withered apple skin
                                                         and stale coffee;
                                            of puckered
                         mouth
              and deep
inhales.
                             Hunched shivering
                                                       shoulders hoist a
                                                                                            shaky hand
                                                                                          toward the
                                                                                    face.
                                                A raspy exhale releases
                        another puff of smoky breath.
The icy air exaggerates
the capacity of old
and tiring lungs.

I foresee this rarely preempted fate.


I quit!