6 Minutes

6 Minutes

6 Minutes off your life with every cancer stick you smoke. Every puff of smoke you blow in my face.

A heart attack or stroke, every cancer stick you light. And still you smoke.

5 Minutes

5 Minutes of each day she worries. Tears shed, she cries while hearing horrifying stories

You try to console her saying, “honey I’m alright. It’s okay.  I’m still here” And still every 5 minutes she worries

4 Minutes

Every 4 minutes you cough and cough and cough up blood.

You try to hide it from her, but I know the truth, I found the stains on the rug.

Every 4 minutes there’s always more blood.

3 Minutes

Every 3 minutes you’re stabbed with needles. Doctors in and out.

Nurses with names you won’t remember, tubes in your nose. Every 3 minutes another needle.

2 minutes

Every 2 minutes you touch your head.

Still unable to believe that your beautiful brown locks of hair is gone. Skin head.

The proof is there in the mirror and still every 2 minutes you touch your head unable to believe.

1 Minute.

Every minute you watch her watch you, hands locked, unbreakable but your grip loosens,

You blink, it’s getting harder and harder to keep your eyes open. A loss of hope and still you fight, all because of 6 minutes and a cancer stick.

You fight to stay away from the beautiful light, with every ounce of strength, with every minute you have left.

0 Minutes

You ran out of time.