Chainsmoker.

The broken hearts are flying high.

On the clouds up in the sky.

No worries.

Nobody care's now.

The world highlighted their flaws, so they turned it into their peculiarities and walked out of the crowd.
The faults and faiths meant no shit.

What matters now is to save the rest of your 'uncut' skin.

What matters is to throw that blade.

What matters is the moment you realize your worth and standing in front of mirror, you don't regret your existence.


Like all the homo sapiens sapiens, he too, had a way.

           A way to escape.
                       to escape from this world
                                       from this world and be free..

The white fumes in the air uncleared the view and gave him a venture to breath.
The fumes steadily traveled down his 'tunnel' occupying every of his lungs.

It was killing him, but the death was more alive than ever.

Every night, he thrived for the time to lock himself in the room, shut all the lights and to light his own world bright w/ smoke.

Those 3 hrs-out w/ death and life, forgetting all the pains and living on the moment and witnessing the queer conversation to a diary entry.

He's a chainsmoker; who flew all the worries far to a space unknown.

But the reports couldn't hold on the interludes. 

Those 3 hrs. were no more hidden.

3 yrs. later, he spent 3 hrs daily at the hospital.

All the lovable talks w/ death and the fire and night, had now turned to bootless counselling, painful treatments and bitter ointments.

But every night, when the lights went off and everybody slipped to their sheets; again when the moon arrived at the top of his head, he lighted his own world bright w/ smoke. 

Somewhere from his 'evidenced' diary, he picked up a cigarette and lighted it to gain some life. 

Hawking a cigarette and sitting near the window, his diary once again witnessed their conversation.

He is a chainsmoker; fluttering their every hope w/ smoke.

8 yrs. later, he lied still in a box.

The blooming flowers over his corpse.

Everybody standing in black, praying for him to the mains above.

They all giving fake speeches 'bout friendships and relations. 

He stood near his grave-smoking- talking w/ death and life-laughing, how fake the world is.

He was a chainsmoker; gone to a place from where he came.


~VARIA xoxo