these vile sticks that I smoke, fill my lungs and exhale what I do not consume. they take my energy, they enduse short comas in the sun.
yet, i feel incomplete without their taste between my tonge and cheek. their imposed need to breathe, to inhale life, and exhale death and impurities. my chest tightens and I am covered in a cloud of thin fog to no longer see the world; mask what I choose to not see.
awwwww time for another
