• A few nights ago I was walking under the stars and as I looked up, I said to myself "What has my life become?" I walk these empty streets, but I'm not really there. I pull out my lighter and another cigarette. My esophagous is on fire as I inhale the smoke and taste it's breath upon my tongue. This is what I wanted, right? I wanted to live here. It was my choice. I wanted this cigarette. If I loved it so much, why did I ever quit? Was it their cancer? Was it their fucked up life? No. I think it was the guilt. The thirst for something more than this. Because cigarettes won't fix my problems. They're not going to make me visible again. I'm still a gohst to this world that I left behind. But I had to leave. That night was so much more than a few cigarettes. It was the night I would leave everything behind.

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