I say, I smoke not.
And I do as I say.
Then why do procrastination feels like one?
Making me an addict when in stress and anxiety.
Giving me the comfort yet controlling my actions.
Until I finally feel like a fly caught up in a web,
trying desperately to free myself.
And I say again, I smoke not.

Metal strings,
triangle pick,
painted board,
mind plays tricks.
Humming noise; the silence clicks.

Dust on frets,
bent-down spine,
aching chords,
blurred by time.
Still, I hum... though not in rhyme.

I hibernate like a bear, but not from winter, from the world.

"I wish I could..."
That’s what I say when I visit memories
distant, blurred, and strange.
A world I knew… and yet never truly knew.
The quiet roots of who I’ve become.

"They’re from another country."
"But… they’re people too, aren’t they?"
"Yeah, but not our people."

I had good intentions when I first found you
You seemed like the missing piece to my unsolved puzzle.
But time blurred the lines - the world grew loud,
And I left you on a shelf to gather dust.