Dying Poem by Alen Alexander

I see him corrupting
himself, in front of me
I can't reason out with him
all I do is stand helplessly

all I see, from
metres far away
are spirals of smoke thick,
thinning into the air

I'm fine, i know
because I can stay away
but I'm in sorrow
seeing him getting frail

right now, even me
i'm in this mess too
because I'm the second hand smoker
who's trying to help and standing next to you

God knows, how
will this ever go?
next thing I know
he would probably die further more

this started out with smoke
next, will he want to sniff?
I don't want to see him next
in a hole dug, lying stiff

I thought, if I stood out
he'd leave, I being his example
but haha, he's turned a business-man
telling me to join and try out his new samples

why can't this end easy?
how do i get him back alive?
i don't want to see him die
but get back, and show them all, who's fit to survive

if its about fun
this isn't the way, it should be
because the story is only good
if the end goes wonderfully

it isn't worth to live
puffing and telling that you're enjoying
because even if it brings a new kind of fun to you
you forgot, that hell's coming, man you're dying!