When I was a little girl,
I watched my mother smoke,
I watched as it consumed her lungs, often causing her to choke
When I asked what it was, she told me it was Dragon fire
I believed her in a heart beat, Thinking it was magic of unattainable desire.

My mother was a dragon
She could breath fire, she could fly
Little did I know then, it was the dragon that caused her to die.

The black coal took over her lungs, the claws ripped at her throat,
As the dragon latched on, there was little hope.
Her wings grew weaker, as they became tattered and fragile
but my mother still drank in the toxic embers, it was her addictive desire.

As her breath began to falter, and her flame began to die,
Her candle blew out, now it was really her time to fly.