Death by Cigarette

She Sat Down In Her Cold Arm Chair,
To Smoke The Cigarette So Fair;

The Light Of Its Tip So Bright,
But That Of Her Eyes So So Light;

Her Chair So Worn And Torn,
Just Like Her Life So Forlorn;

In Her Company Stands A Figure,
So Much Faded And So Much Bigger;

Her Complexity Was Now Distraught,
While The Other’s So Well Fought;

The Smoke She Exhaled So Heavily,
Continued Her Absence So Readily;

The Faded Figure Never Left The Room,
But The Cigarette Of Hers Did Expire Soon.