Smoking Kills (time)

Smoking was one of my favorite things to do with my hands. I guess it still is but now I don’t do it anymore. I admire the fact that a substance isn’t in my bloodstream anymore but I miss the entire process.

My brain still craves the chemical reaction it has to nicotine.

It’s not my fault smoking is so fucking cool, the closest we’ll ever come to being dragons, spewing smoke out of our nostrils and stuff.

Smoking means “I don’t care” and “I don’t give a fuck”… which is highly ironic for me since I’m constantly caring too much about everything until I’m a puddle of analysis. I guess it dulled my senses a bit, making me a little less aware (aka tormented) of everything.

I wouldn’t start smoking again, I just wish there was an alternate universe where it wouldn’t give you cancer or destroy your lungs.


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