Gray smudges, cigarette remnants burdened your clothes,

Your drawn and sallow face bore witness to pain.

Hands deformed, fingers stained yellow-orange by chemicals you inhaled,

You looked at me – yet was I there?

Your hair none but light wisps of blonde above your ears,

They say mine is the same color but more abundant.

I wonder if my face was a mistake,

Now in my silver years, I find no worth in comparing.

You left in my fifteenth year,

You could not look back.

There within satin lined box, your eyes closed forever,

I saw you – did you see me?

No long good byes, nor empty tears,

Only vacancy on cigarette stained couch.

Now you walk in shadow, faceless form.