11.11.8

So, it's been thirty days without a cigarette in my mouth, let alone my hands. Today is the thirty-first day and I'm going strong. Quitting, F.Y.I., is not easy. Anyone who isn't up for letting go a part of their psyche isn't up for quitting. I've given up a whole mentality that smoking has been a part of. You never realize how small of a thing smoking has reached it's tentacles into. Yeah, smoking's like this black wart inside of your brain that starts wherever you let it. For me it was "coolness." It went from that to a many other sparks/triggers that just led back to that one source inside of my head where it all started. It's an evil thing. Yeah, that's right I'm putting it in a box and labeling it. You know what? I'm going to even put a bow on it, just to mock it. Smoking is wrong. All you pantheists and relativists out there can chew on that.

What's up with winter? Where is it?
And a piece of my heart
Has been extracted for good.
And I couldn't replace it with a drag of anything
But replaced it with God for He's all I've got
anymore
And I'm slowly being severed
from everything I know
I'm slowly dying so that I may live
And it's sad and it hurts
But I can't keep the shards inside
Or else I'll never be able to heal
I'm killing my flesh
By killing my wants
And I'm living in it's death
By conquering over it
With The Ghost of Hosts
I'm turning into myself