"Smoking kills." on a cig pack. I laugh at the notion.
A sarcastic cackle escapes me.
It's hardly the smoking.
It's always the people.
Their weapons.
Their words.
Everything spoken ill-timed and brash.
I used to fear death. Now it stirs no emotion.
A neurotic cackle escapes me.
Contempt does the choking.
One cigarette after another,
again and again.
Would you look at that —
There, in the stairwell.
It's raining ash.
smoking mirrors
© Copyright: Владислав Вольнов, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126111205013
Свидетельство о публикации №126111205013
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