all in or all out
the feelings are all consuming
or there is a numb vacancy
where my heart is supposed to be
I will smoke a pack a day until I die
or never light one up
my inability to slow down terrifies me
it sweeps in like a tropical hurricane
starting out with beauty and sun
but leaves nothing but devastation behind
or it’s my inability to care at all that ruins me
I feel dead inside,
like a never ending overcast day
with black leafless trees casting shadows of nothing
over my stone cold heart
I ask myself,
what is the worst kind of storm?
a habit that I am powerless against to quit?
or never knowing pleasure,
only cruel detachment?