She was withered away on a vodka and cocaine diet. I used to play her ribs like a xylophone while she vomited gibberish over the telephone. I would glance over at the mantle and look at her old pictures. There was a sparkle in her eyes that slowly decomposed. She was dried up. Her tears smelled of formaldehyde. Her breath stunk of cigarettes and missed opportunities. She would gasp when her wild cats jumped her chest and scream when she showered. Her nose was burnt. Tiny crystals destroyed her mind. She was sick. I coughed, and walked out.