You say it easy—
like truth don’t weigh nothin’,
like words don’t stick
to the ribs of a person
long after you leave.
Just blowin’ smoke,
you laugh—
like that makes it lighter,
like it don’t drift back down
and settle in my lungs.
I’ve heard that tone before—
half-real, half-running,
truth wrapped in a joke
so you don’t have to own it.
You speak in maybes,
in almosts,
in things that sound close enough
to mean something
but never land hard enough
to hold.
And I keep standin’ there
tryin’ to read through the haze,
wonderin’ what part of you
is real
and what part’s just
habit.
Because smoke looks beautiful
when it catches the light—
soft, shapeless,
easy to mistake
for somethin’ worth holdin’.
But it don’t stay.
It don’t answer.
It don’t choose.
It just fades—
leavin’ behind
the quiet taste
of everything
you never meant.
Through the Fog 