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.