leonardcohenforum.com

Smoke smothers my mother
With pillows of fog
Spewing from tar-choked tumors
Wheezing in her breast.

Narrow ridges of smoke like
Silent scythes held aloft
Are splitting apart her lungs
And spilling out her air.

Smoke smothers my mother
And spools above her head
In rings like cloudy crowns
Vanishing with every cough.

that is very sad... you'd think there would be a smoke substitute that would soothe the very addicted.