Day and night, you were smoking cancer
Your throbbing voice sounded like coming
From inside a deep cave.
Skinny like a ghost, a featherless bird,
A hazy image knotted
In the mesh of someones heart strings
Still working hard in the late night shifts
And lighting up cigs thereafter
Slapping little chocolates on palms of your kids.
Your life rolled on like a slow moving oldie
Combined with that subtle papery laughter
That your friends often mistook for
A bunch of snapping twigs.