The Grey Smoke

The cigar made her addictive,
To what she was compromised.
She wants it everytime she needs.
That's a pretty thing people often do.

Eight corners had she seek,
Null was the response.
The week have become Eight days.

Eventually it was a habit,
Of thinking about it,
Of knowing about it,
Of fantasizing about it,
Of day-dreaming about it,
Of finding pleasure in it,
Of smiling over it.

That smell,
That taste,
That hold,
That time,
That feeling.

Everyone insisted on quitting,
Everyone warned about the loses,
Everyone counselled her,
Everyone argued over,
Over and over.
All she wanted was to be high with it.

Then came the troubles,
Took her breathe away,
Took her sense away,
Took her laughter away,

Sad was all she wants,
To be sad with it.
To be lied with it.

A week then became nine days,
A month became five years.
The Grey smoke got fainted.

All she wanted was a call from the heaven.
Heavenly body warmed her eyes first.