The Urge To Smoke

I don’t know if it’s the fact that I’ve had two coffees today but I’m itching to smoke to take this edge off. Obviously I wouldn’t actually smoke but fucking hell, sometimes it takes extra willpower to remain looking calm.

Honestly, if there was one thing I could do without consequence, I would pick smoking cigarettes. It’s a fake kind of relaxation but it worked. Or maybe I was willingly killing myself slowly and had embraced that path I had chosen.

Anyway, tomorrow is a new day and I actually have plans to do something instead of sit around at home and pretend to sleep when sleep doesn’t come. I need to be productive because my anxiety gets worse the less I challenge it. I must stimulate my mind and push to get better because believe it or not, there are times when I wish I could be a little more normal and a little less me.

With ultra regret,


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.