I have no problems with reality,
Not a one.
For my reality has been kind to me.

She is not the hard unchangeable reality whom others face,
But an easily molded reality.
A reality I can all too simply alter.

My reality is maleable.

The paper goes down,
Disintegrating under the tongue,
And enlightenment goes up,
All these new realities i'd missed before.
The colours all increase,
Each sensation felt as though via magnifying glass.
A vivid, deep reality arrives.

The bottle tips up,
And boredom- bred of a mundane life,
And sadness- for no particular reason,
Flow out.
A blurrier and faster paced reality sets in.
Much better.
Much better.

And one might forget everything -
in my reality that is.
So many nights never truly occurred.
I had nothing to do with that long-haired boy,
The accepting of his alcohol,
The ripping of his shirt,
The kissing of his neck.

In your harsh reality truths are unavoidable.
Not so in mine!

Yes,
My reality is kind to me.
It looks after me well.
It will do what is for the best,
Erasing and blurring.
Good reality, good pet.

I feed my little reality her meds,
And we stay happily together;
happy in our preferredly hazy state.