I don’t smoke, I love freedom

I don’t smoke. But my hairs have the smell of cigarette smoke. Hmm…I’ve always loved freedom. Anyway, my hairs have the smell of cigarette smoke. Not sky, not wind, not his breath. All this don’t stay too long.

But the smoke - deceitful, fickle, grey, killing – always stays. Invisible part of me. Without color. Without permission. Only the smell. And the flavor.

I love freedom. There are 11 corners in my room. Not 4. Four corners – is a stereotype. I have 11 corners, and there is much space in my room. Much light. But there are more corners inside me.

Every day I heard about this. Every time when somebody stumbled. When somebody stumbled and broke his head over these damn corners. The corners are filled with cigarette smoke.

Cigarette smoke is outside.

The corners are inside.
I don’t smoke, and I love freedom. Freedom is loneliness. Loneliness is a consequence of corners. Corners - the space for cigarette smoke.