I exhaled slowly, and as the smoke escaped my mouth so did the pressure in my rib cage. My heart was swollen, and it never stopped throbbing inside my chest. Every cigarette I smoked let me forget everything, turned my thoughts grey. Soon everything was just a dull nothing, and I could live in a cloud of mystery and oblivion. Every cigarette pack I bought was an escape. But it was never enough.
YOU ARE READING
Fragments.
PoetryFragments lie on torn up pieces of paper, characters of my creation, musings I have at 2:34 AM, poems that scare my parents, thoughts that cross my mind in sporadic bursts, and ones that live there permanently.
