Silence is said to be the loudest sound.
Years of enjoyment shadowed by impending doom.
The smoke filling every room
She loved the smell of the exhaust
And never thought of the cost
The burn she would feel in the back of her throat
Her favorite part, she would gloat
The rush from the nicotine
The soft, happy tickling
The itch of addiction that had to be scratched
Unsuspecting, she quickly became attached
Uncaring and inhaling
Her lungs were failing
She knew this now after only thirty-two
Silence is said to be the loudest sound.
If she were able to speak, she would tell you.