I hate whoever gives you drugs, I hate whatever drives you to do them and what makes them so special. I miss the old you, the person who wasn't coming around high and smelly. I miss the adventures we used to have during the summer, spending the nights together, eating pizza in your car in front of the lake at 2 am when you'd wake me up and take me out of my apartment, spend the night at your house and wake up next to each other. Now I just lay around crying and worried you'll end up dead in a ditch somewhere or in a jail cell. The only thing I have left of you is your baby kicking and you may not be around to see him come out because you're too busy getting baked in your fantasy world not giving a **** about the important things. The worst part is that if I told you any of this you wouldn't care enough to hear it when you're too far gone to hear me plea.