Smoke is what fills my lungs,
helping me escape reality;
creating an illusion of freedom
because I can't seem to find any.
Smoke is what creates my shadow,
which I leave behind anywhere I go;
a marking of my territory so people know
that Smoke is my fixation.
People seem to think that all I think
is Smoke, but Smoke is not my thoughts,
its just my way of writing them in ink;
permanent until the wind takes them away.
And although they're gone, I like to imagine
that the wind flowed into someone else's mind
and they put them into action;
giving birth to world's that are well aged in my mind
but this world thinks they're new so I'll let it pass them by.
Smoke is in the air, poisoning their souls
as I walk a long road, facing heaven's vivid glow.
And as fire burns all roads with words that I invoke,
heaven's vivid glow is blurred, and covered in the smoke.
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