THE smoke of cigarettes.
It's impossible, yet possible somehow.
It's physically possible, but mentally, I think otherwise.
It's calming, seeping the stress out of yourself with each breath, watching the white shadow wisps swirl and float into the atmosphere. Sharp scents, stinging your eyes.
Yet it's deadly. With beauty come sacrifice, and you're killing yourself slowly. Tar building up in your lungs.
But you can't bring yourself to care, for there is worse things in your life, in everybody's lives, that are calming, and are also killing us slowly, but yet not just physically.
Especially not just physically.
YOU ARE READING
Beauty
FantasyI'm very random. This book won't be an exception, but I'm mostly just trying to swim my way out of the dark, thick, ocean of my dark thoughts I'm swimming in.
