What am I but hollow?
This empty cage, this rusted prison
A phantom trapped within myself.
My bones are stripped bare,
And my soul is leaking,
Dripping away down the bars,
Wasting away, like a cigarette.
I am a criminal of my own identity,
Betraying myself at every turn.
Promises; Promises,
I've made myself a million promises,
And I have broken them, shattered them,
Torn myself up on the many remains.
And now,
Every, single, error haunts my soul,
Each one pressing me deeper down,
Pushing me harder, closer, to oblivion.
I trip under the weight,
Scrape my knees on rock bottom,
And point the blame at myself
This blood surely, I deserve to bleed.
Justification of one's actions,
By accusation of the mirror
Is the most dangerous act of self support.
I am crushed by the shame,
By the weight of my own mistakes,
My bones, my foundation, crumbling,
Like a disgraced version of Atlas.
I now live life, for that day,
Where all of my guilt fades like smoke,
And I am free, from my own blame.
Until then, I will tirelessly strive, fight, battle,
To be better,
Every moment,
Every day,
Melius esse; Melius esse.

In the quiet of the night, she lingered, savoring a slow drag from her cigarette.
After all, this was the sole indulgence she allowed herself from time to time.
As she observed the smoke swirling gracefully before her,
she sensed a calmness enveloping her.
Gradually, her spirit was rising, and she understood the importance of not hurrying its journey.
She was not just okay.
She was more than okay,
she was truly alive.

-Rhia Clay

When night bring back the memories

You can't even sleep

You go to the terrace to feel the wind breeze

You light a cigarette to burn the memories down

In failed attempt you stomp on the ashes on ground

For all you know the nights still haunts

But you love the burning heart that you want

~Bhavesh Shah