Sometimes I smoke my emotions,
whenever I blew it, it decreased
my anxiety and desperation that I didn’t show.
I cry to extinguish the flame, my outrage didn’t end,
it made my life fearless again.
I breathe until I get myself back to reality,
where the clouds weren’t blue or pink but black and rainy.
I try to make my existence beautiful,
like that of the lady in woods.
Remembering all those wonderful memories,
I build it when I was inexperienced of the hurt.
I smoke to get high in life, not to get intoxicated,
I smoke fear and lies of people that are now faded.