(no subject)

[scatological]

It is sort of like cutting, I suppose. I smoke because I like the way it burns my throat. I like the bitter, acid taste that won't wash away. I like the light of the burning leaves, the curl of the smoke, the action of fingers to hand to mouth. I like that what I am doing is killing me. I like breaking down my own self, my own body, my own heart and mind.

I don't think I'm cynical. I think I am just empty... or hollow.

I wonder what life would be tomorrow should I stop existing tonight?

I find that hope no longer holds me up as solidly as it once did.