Smoke Screen Self
Lately I’ve been feeling rather detached, as I idly watch the depression relapse. I feel the cigarette cling as a foreign body in need of a host, seeing my sense of self live as a shadow of a ghost.
I feel appalled by the smoke, with each inhale it feels like a practical joke. Who is this person standing in my place, trying to wear an identical face?
The smoke pulls inside my lungs and throat, as I feel my heart sputter and choke. I’m a reflection of my former self it seems, as I quietly pull out all the lose strings.
I’d seen people from all walks of life, puffing on their comfort when they feel deep strife. In my judgment I believed I could never become, someone sucking on a cigarette like it’s a babies’ thumb.
We spent hours in the hospital waiting for a sign, that he’d pull through another surgery and be just fine. As he attempted to hide the cigarette he held, I asked If I could join him as I felt overly compelled.
I pretend in my mind that it’s a temporary ploy, to occupy my thoughts while I lack authentic joy. The irony is I also attempt to hide this newly tried vice, creating a smoke screen to avoid unwanted advice.
– Susan Clark (SFCK)
Artist: Unknown
