What are the strong?
The weak?
The strong are powerful,
gods walking upon man.
The weak are ants,
little things that cannot do anything by themselves.
The strong bicker.
The weak agree.
The strong are feared.
The weak are respected.
The strong are alone.
The weak are never alone.
The strong are in constant fear of death.
The weak have no fear,
for they have friends on call.
The strong belittle each other.
The weak lift up each other.
The strong.
The weak.
Who is better off?

8 months ago,

it did not seem like we needed drugs

and alcohol

to have fun.


And suddenly,

there was everything

we had heard about from

everyone else.


But instead of in the whispered gossip

and the disjointed stumblings of drunken dreams

it was right in front of us.


And so the straightedge in us

was bent

with every shot glass

with every smoking joint

that we brought to our anxious lips.


Slowly, hesitantly, at first,

our arms creaked upwards towards our open mouths,

as if we were training muscles,

we didn’t even know we had.

But then it became familiar,

and our elbows flowed smoothly with the oil

of routine.


And at sometime during those long and blurred nights,

I lost track of what was right

and what was wrong.


With every sip I drowned my values

and with every inhale, I cremated my former self

and the white smoke of the fire

wisped up into the air of a dimly lit garage.


Until all I was left with was the present,

wondering where the future would take me.