the smoke dances in the dark like apparitions
skittering through the beams of lights
peeking in through the boarded openings
pouring out of his mouth like a backwards waterfall
colourless against the tender pink of his lips
it expands and grows
latching itself onto anything it touches
infesting it
with its foul scent
branding it, marking its presence.
but for him, the smoke was an addiction, an impulsive desire deep rooted in the depths of his soul
in fact, as deep rooted as an old banyan tree, the habitat of many
but in this case
it wasnt the tree that was the habitat of the creature
it was the creature that was the habitat of the tree
as its roots were so far gone
that the tree was in control of the creature
its roots deep in the creatures brain
it was the smoke that was in control of him
dulling his senses
taking over
-when you get addicted