Sitting on the steps of this rundown factory I pull a cigarette from the flattened pack I've been nursing for a week,
Desperately looking for the lighter I had at sunset, I must have lost it in my sleep.
Then death walks up and sits next to me and flicks his zippo,
"I thought I smelled flowers." I said as I leaned in and inhaled. "Back for another visit?" I ask.
Just a slow nod is all I get in return.
"I find it kind of funny you seem to stop by,
As I was thinking of coming over,"
A small smirk and an exhale of smoke is all he offers.

As he stares at the brown leaves slowly flying with the breeze,
He says "This is my favorite time of the year."
"It shows us that even the most beautiful things have to end to begin again, but notice the roots and branches remain, reminding us to stay strong."
He stood and motioned for me to follow and we started walking.

As I look it's almost a different world seeing the trees so bare, thier so vulnerable without thier leaves.
It reminded me of another like me, I met last night, scared and weak,
They were so exposed standing alone on the edge of that factory roof.

Sometimes I go up there when I feel alone,
to smoke or write some poetry if the timing is right,
I tend to find company in the radiance of the stars,
Since the street lights on this side of town haven't been of use in years.
I offered a smoke and...