As she lit her last cigarette holding it in her cold shaky hands, the last flame of passion lit up in her eyes. The smell of death forming a cloud around her scared away all the pain as the smoke burned through her lungs making every breath shallower. Some only see what is killing her, what she's holding on to, what she puts in her mouth every night when the skies turn dark. Some see that fire that keeps her alive, the spark at the end that's her only light guiding her to heaven. They tell her to fly as the cut off her wings. They tel her to live as they rip her heart out. The only hope she has is that tomorrow will be better but it never seems to be. She closes her eyes and prays for a little love but she's so high that if she falls she'll die.
