It's a disgusting habit.
Dirty. Ugly.
You're wasting your life away, killing yourself.
You're spending money on trash.
Standard responses to people finding me with a cigarette blazing, dangling between my index and middle finger. Rather symbolic, I think. The placement was my unsaid reply to people's judgement.
Middle finger, fuck. Index, that.
But what I actually say is "It really is. It's terrible," with a sad smile. That's what I am. Blanketed words and assurances. Why? Because I don't want to be to someone else the very thing that destroyed me.
