He’s a wreck lying there on the bed. White hair sporting cigarette ash and the sheets sporting the cigarette burns of his relapse.
The thick stench of smoke is his long-lost companion. His only acquaintance and consult on a night that has lasted ages too long. He couldn’t count the packs anymore but every exhale tasted of tobacco. Eventually it grew to be so strong that he’d stopped lighting cigarettes, just inhaled the bits of air as he pressed his head against his pillow.
Vices and addictions are a simple concept. You repeat and repeat until your ills vanish away in a toxic haze. Yet today he’s the unlucky exception. His throat itches like something was trying to claw out yet if he downed a drink to drown it, it would rile up his already ailing stomach.
His mind was in such a fog due to sleep that never came. Yet the bad things seemed as clear as day.
Clutching to the pillowcase, he finds himself glad, so very glad that there’s no one else to see him. But he doesn’t turn his head.
The world doesn’t need to see his face today.
The thick stench of smoke is his long-lost companion. His only acquaintance and consult on a night that has lasted ages too long. He couldn’t count the packs anymore but every exhale tasted of tobacco. Eventually it grew to be so strong that he’d stopped lighting cigarettes, just inhaled the bits of air as he pressed his head against his pillow.
Vices and addictions are a simple concept. You repeat and repeat until your ills vanish away in a toxic haze. Yet today he’s the unlucky exception. His throat itches like something was trying to claw out yet if he downed a drink to drown it, it would rile up his already ailing stomach.
His mind was in such a fog due to sleep that never came. Yet the bad things seemed as clear as day.
Clutching to the pillowcase, he finds himself glad, so very glad that there’s no one else to see him. But he doesn’t turn his head.
The world doesn’t need to see his face today.
