we are a smoking family

cigarettes and coffee suicide for pleasure. inhaling certain uncertainty. every breath gets shorter. but something is in motion, shifting control to a substance, to a feeling, a relief, or just a few moments in the cold, fueled with solitude. maybe just a distraction from minor or major struggle. giving the possibility to be approached by someone who struggles with the exactly same and different things. self-loathe, subconscious consciousness about the fact that you don’t really want to be here. a decision turns into a habit. a human habit, selfdestruction. I tell myself that it’s for creative reasons or to let off steam. when in the end, I only want to feel the smoke pour into my eyes my throat and look at it fade through the dimmed lights and moonshine. nils mik

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