The Drag of Death

Lightning streaks, silver strands, as I watch them, grow.
Legs deep in a muck, I stand trapped and unable to go.
They reach my neck and hug me like a hungry snake.
Ignorance and fear are whispering gently, this is all fake.
The noose tightens and I choke all my crimson to front.
The last blush of death, is my name for this final stunt.
The silver thread yanks my soul out of the muck and life.
I am gone, leaving my friends, misery and strife.

The doctor lifts the mask and comes out, shaking his head.
He tells my better half in tears, that I am dead.
She wails and screams and flings her curse at me.
For leaving her and the kids in the middle of a sea.
She hugs the girl and the boy leans to see.
At his father, the fool, that would be me.
They bury me in the morning, next to pop, mom and bro.
Heads down, in silence, as pity and sympathy overflow.

I let the smoke go, black at day, white at night.
Oh yes, always, was it such a lovely sight.
I lit another one as I dip this down on the tray.
Not knowing, it was from life, this led me astray.
I laughed out loud and painted my lips to black.
Engulfed in smoke, which like the snake, would be back.
Lightning streaks, silver strands were the smoke that I sucked on.
The black remains of my expensive habit, were the muck all along.