Can’t Come Up With a Title

I don’t know if it’s because I’m sad and mad (as always) or because I’ve been clean for nine months now, but I’m dying to have another cigarette again.

My withdrawal from smoking didn’t came abrupt. I lessened my consumption from 3 sticks each lunch break, 1 in the morning and 1 after work to 1 each day, as I remember.

Nevertheless I occasionally dream of smoking. Yes, I dream about smoking. Probably because smoking was a thing I wanted to try when I was younger but I didn’t do and them some things fucked up my life after college so I tried it.

I tried it and I love every puff of it.

Maybe smoking is like those things in life you’ve always wanted, got them, freed them, and ended up wanting them again.

Maybe smoking is like those things you didn’t do any wrong to, but end up in your dreams, even if you’re wide awake.

Smoking is like those things you love but haunts you.

Like you.


Some Days

Some days I’m an evil choosing to love

And some days I’m an angel giving in to her lusts.

Some days I ask myself if life would be worthwhile in the end

Then there are days I just want to be mended.

Some nights I rock myself to sleep

Some I wait for the answer of the stars up.

Some days I let fear consume me

Some days I consume my fear.

Some days I choose love

Some I wish love choses me.