As Eminem said:
I can’t tell you what it really is,
I can only tell you what it feels like.
And right now, there’s a steel knife in my windpipe,
I can’t breathe, but I still fight while I can fight.
This is how it feels after vomiting – anything and not just spaghetti – when clean smoke passes through your throat after burning – not Rihanna’s burning of inside flames – of paper wrapped between your fingers. Politely. Elegantly.
Obviously. Throat is temporary. Smoke is permanent. Or vice versa! Smoke and mirrors. Smoke and mirrors.
Eh!
Just gonna stand there and watch me burn?
Well, that’s alright, because I like the way it hurts.
Well, that’s alright, because I love the way you lie.
