the ghost- poem i wrote long time ago

i lit a cigarette, closed my eyes, and let it be. i didn’t fight it; you can’t win against yourself.

i took a puff, closed my eyes, and tried to swim. the air was poison and death, the truth drifting through an endless sky, going nowhere.

as if it had already gone before it touched the water, like moving on instinct but remaining still—a ghost. the water didn’t try to catch it; it had already drowned, not in the sea, but in itself, long before it thought to swim.

a mind lost to itself, in a body meant to sink, just waves pulling down something that never knew the water wasn’t there to save it—because there was nothing to catch, only to drown what was already gone.