Inner Self


To/The End

Staring at the smoke dissolving through the air everything, in a paused way, makes perfect sense - laisse-moi tempêter -. No cigarettes to fulfill this void. No words from the rest to change a thing. It seems it’s not changing. It’s getting worst, of course, evolving. Not for me. I’m that who chooses not to live a lie, it’s either to jump or to turn my back. Illusions. Maybe that’s what everything is for you. My reality is just as raw as the drags I take.
I closed the door and turned away.



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