Life

It corrodes, It rusts
Not the nicotine, the smouldering tip
smoking like the wintry cold
the wicked red eyes sneering into yours
as it gnarls the white, churning it slowly and steadily
into powdery, spineless black
and then as you rear your head
crushes your soul one final time
under the shining suede sole

EDITED : In face of some confusion, yes I have written the above piece, the italics notwithstanding.