This entire life is a series of voluntarily oblivious decisions between
the huge letters on the packet that say "SMOKING KILLS"
and the smell of tobacco on fingers,
the replacement of thoughts with smoke.
This entire life is an irony
of always making fatal choices,
just to hold to the ephemeral scraps of poisoned hopes
that are the only things keeping us alive.
This entire life is made up of
sighing laughs and eyes escaping other eyes
to veil leaking pain and truth in every ordinary sentence;
for there is no word that isn't tangled with a memory.
This entire life is a failed attempt at explanations,
a futile shield that we draw in every pyrrhic argument.
It is the embarrassment of knowing that we make it all the more apparent
that ours is already a lost battle as we always show up with rusted armour.
This entire life is a hunt for beauty
and a cringe at the same time when you are called the same.
It the fear of every beautiful word turning out to be hollow
and every love just a headlight of a car rushing by.
