old and worn,
shee fees the cancer inside of her.
in secret shes killing herself, 
slowly.
her home has deteroirated,
to the point of being more a cell,
a place to try and escape then to take comfort in.
bugs crawl in the cabanits,
eating the age old food she wont touch.
the papers and books scattered about,
memorys of a past life that once seemed to mean something.
her body broken,
spirits weakened,
she lies down,
and dies more each day,
slowly. 
awaiting the compleation of her life. 
the day the smoke will clear.