My loss of balance
I blame on evolution

I look around and see smoke
in the air from
pollution
and
my best friend's cigarette

I see different eyes
how they evolved into unique shapes
and how both people
still need to console themselves
with their man made vices

when i'm sober
I can only think of
the strong imprint
of the smell of whiskey
and the plans for its return

so I go find my old hide away
from the days sobriety didn't concern me
and see it surrounded by thorns
and feel it grown into the hillside

As I scrape my ankles
and sacrifice myself to these tiny threats
I wonder if this old clubhouse
represents what happened to me

Am I cruel for the same reason the forest grows thorns?

Though beautiful on the inside, we both want to keep the world out.