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.