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With fingernails painted

A subtle shade of blue

Concealing the discolouration

A nasty yellow hue

Reek of heavy


Acrid odor

Move back and forth

In a rhythmic order

It’s her fourth

Cancer stick

When the nicotine hits

Lightheaded, she starts feeling sick

Her insides are burning

Like the cigarettes she puffs

But her tranquil and reserved exterior

Gives nothing away

Her fingers slightly tremor

As she flicks the ash into the ashtray

She smokes her pain away


Labelled as damaged goods

By a person who once mattered

Here she lies broken and tattered

Like the formless gray residue

In the ashtray

A prisoner of the past

She smokes her pain away


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