i'm tired of this world, but what do i know?

s m o k i n g

smoking
me and your mama -childish gambino

she takes the first hit
i swear when those clouds circle through her lungs
she seems to forget

the glass fogs up in her car
I'd ask if she wants to lay out on the grass
but to her
too close to my past
is a little too far

so we sit in her car
we talk about her
and i patiently wait
for her to pass

and when she does
my eyes roll back
i know this can't be it
but I'm not happy that you're here
i'm happy to take the next hit

surely like some teenage addict
she will always get more
and I'll watch her patiently
wonder what she'll say
or what she thinks about this predicament

she's wise
she gives great advice
but i just think there's something she won't get

she's never seen what I've seen
she's never been where I've been
so i can show her
but
still
she has all of these questions

i can't settle it
so i take another puff of the fake relief
i see what addictions done to her
and i won't let it happen to me
i think
but every now and then i fumble and sink

not to drugs
but maybe to love
falling and scrambling
calling and cancelling
kissing and touching
fighting and wanting
that last hit
sometimes her words feel physical
and that's enough to last a lifetime supply of sadness

so yeah
i love and i hate just like an addict
my withdrawals don't go for long
until im back where i started
i think being addicted to xans, alch, or weed would be more ideal for my age

but trust me
i don't feel nineteen
i feel like i'm like 56

but oh fuck it
i take a hit anyways
pretending that i can relate with the stoners i surround myself with
it doesn't do a thing for my depression or anxiety
those are things i constantly feed
trying to find a way to have peace
and let them stay

that simply doesn't exist

so in the meantime
she takes a hit
and i wait for it

and when it's my turn
i let that shit burn
and ash it with my fist
i don't feel much of anything when i'm constantly consumed like this

i'm suffocating inside
why on earth would i think more smoke could make me breathe easy

no drug on earth can duplicate happiness
and that's where i get my fix
but when you achieve that level of decent
it feels ten times worse when you're sad
even if it's just for a second

and it's hard not to get trapped again
it's hard not to get addicted to pain
because she's addicted to what kills her and i think i am the same

i just can't drink it out
or smoke it out
i just can't be you

but i
have no sure remedy
so i try to ignore the bad thoughts
and come back to where they used to be good
and where they were the worse they'd ever been

and i smoke a blunt every now and then

a conversation that kills her high

"i tried to commit suicide right here once."

"bro, for real? like right here?"

i nod, i let the smoke fill my lungs and i pretend that it's working. it takes away the stress, but my sadness gets so deep i can't even turn back from it.

"why didn't you go through with it?"

"i took some pills, couldn't stop crying. but then, randomly i thought about my friends," i mumbled. "i thought about them first and i imagined them going to my funeral and stuff. i guess it kind of reminded me that i was being selfish-that maybe my life isn't just my own."

"it isn't." she smiled.

i smiled too, not feeling anything at all. it just felt like moving muscles for no reason. "i know."

fin