I could smell it as soon as she opened the door.
The smoke from the cancer stick she held so proudly.
It saddened me to watch her slowly kill herself,
Not even trying to quit her fiending addiction.
I don't want the only memories I have of her to of her holding a cigarette loosely between her fingers.
Exhaling even slower,
Shorting hours upon hours of her life with every puff.
It makes me angry when she smokes in my presence,
Killing me along with herself.
If only I could relieve her,
Of her tiny grim reaper,