imagine if every puff of smoke from every person was their sad story,
their misery.
imagine if as we inhaled their smoke we experienced what they once did,
their suffering,
their pain.
how beautiful it would be to read all of these sorrows
and realise
that you're not the only one
with tarred lungs
because of a broken heart.

we're here in this wondrous universe,
located in the spectacular milky way galaxy,
living on this magnificent planet Earth,
and all we do is **** everything up.

all humans can do is either control or destroy.

not many of us are capable of living in harmony with nature surrounding us.

we've become accustomed to these concrete jungles,
living and breathing the factory fumes.

we need to open our eyes and help nature reproduce.

if only everyone realised that we were lucky to be put on Earth,
maybe then we could do something great.

if more people realised that there is so much more out there and in actual fact we don't know anything,
maybe then we'd be able to make peace with what once was and move on.

if only everyone realised
we are just a speck amongst billions of stars.

I was walking down the beach today in hope to collect a few beach curiosities.
only just a slice of the most exquisite shell I have ever seen was sticking out of the sand, so I did what was expected, I dusted away the sand in the expectation of uncovering something completely spectacular.
it didn't fulfil my expectations, as all it was, was a slice of what once was a complete, unbroken shell, so I threw it back on the sand.
my mind pounding with thoughts, I soon realised that was wrong of me.
who am I to pick up something that was expected to be perfect and whole and then just throw it back to find out that it's broken and only one piece of it is still whole.
It then hit me that this is what too many people do to each other,
they look at someone and expect everything to be perfect, but then they start dusting away the sand that covers them and then they realise that this person is broken and so they just throw them away to break more.

the smell of the smoke replaces your unfading scent on my clothes,
removing you slowly with ever puff.

the burning in the back of my throat from the uninterrupted smoking of the cigarettes that never leave my fingertips;
it's just like the burning I had after crying over you,
screaming for you to come back down a never ending hallway.

it's the way I poison my lungs,
my body,
just to try and get rid of you.

but even you know,
that will never happen.