|Lost in Translation of Self|
Look at the cigarette burning.
The orange and grey tip burning
Burning with the anticipation of the next puff...
The smoke rises.
It rises against the force of gravity
Then, it disappears into thin air...
But the tip keeps burning, burning, burning...
With not knowing the harm it causes you
You take another puff, then another.
The smoke still is rising, dancing...
Twisting and turning.
Enjoying it while it lasts.
Until, it finally burns out.
And you will always crave another...