Dust is my only memory.
White is the only color I see.
Emptiness is my only pulse.
Solitude is my only shelter.
In between all this chaos of nothingness lies my brain in a box of cigarettes.
Smoke becoming my only lover.
Caressing me with its ashes, while hypnotizing me with its nicotine.

I am looking for my mind and its nowhere to be found in this asylum
of heartless consumerism.
I am smoking my hopeless life away, with each cigarette.
Slowly burning my insides with its fatal dose of love.
Whispering: "ashes its all there is left after death, my darling."