My shortness of breath makes it hard to control my breathing.
When the wind burns away at the tip of my LD Red, it's difficult to feel satisfied with a single cigarette. To keep my two feet grounded has always been an issue, so I close my eyes in conjunction with my upright position. That's how my psychologist taught me. Twice a day. Twice a day. Does she understand the tall order that that is?
To sit here on a ash-stained incline and speculate about a reason why I began smoking is both excruciating and pointless. That's what this state of mind does to me.
I enjoy equating the dust of the cylindrical Butt-Bucket with my lungs. Flashbacks of my school-trip to an anatomy field-trip draw images of a comparison made between a healthy lung and that of a smokers. There's something terrifying and also oddly comforting when I relate it to my body.
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Into the Wind
General FictionTaylor struggles with decision making. His depth of thinking causes him feel isolated. Having recently stopped his depression medication, he wonders what the underlying cause of his depressive state is and whether he can figure out a way to remedy i...
