Ashes of the Soul

I can smell it from a distance.

It's the call of the dark.

Once again, it is calling out to my soul.

I am aware of its presence. I can feel it so close to me.

It's the only thing that I pine for, when I taste apathy.

I like the way it comes to me whenever I want it to.

The way it slowly burns and the greys fall on the ground.

I like the way it puts me under a spell of trance.

The way it either makes me see all of it, or see nothing at all.

I like the way it makes me feel that nothing matters.

The way it makes me feel self-absorbed.

I like the way it creates a mist around me;

A mist that makes me go blind.

A mist that shuts the world off for me, if only for a little while.

I like the way it has become my escape route.

The way it has become my slave.

Yes, I know the truth about it. I do know the truth about this little twig!

I know that it has enslaved me instead.

I know that it has empowered my existence.
Something that was once just an adornment between my fingers, is now an addiction.
And I know that it is only helping my impending doom happen sooner.
For every time, it touches my lips and enters me,

It takes a little bit of my soul and burns it brutally.

It snatches away the happiness that is somewhere hidden in my heart;

The happiness that is yet to be freed from the dungeons of distraught.
I know it is slowly eating me up from within.
I know how it is decomposing my heart, my body and my soul all at once; very nice and slow.
It rescues me every time I trip,
Only to make me trip further.
I know the truth about it; I know it all.
                                 

However, no matter how much this little white friend betrays me,

I willingly go down on my knees to reach out to it, every single time that life fails me, sells me out.
I welcome it with my two fingers, only to let it come and take away every little bit of my soul;whatever there is, that is left of it.





 

The above content is pure literary work, and, by no means,is published to support or promote smoking.