there is a comfort that comes
with having more than enough indica
more than enough alcohol
to drink away these thoughts
as I stumble through the hallway
knocking pictures of myself off of the wall
not trying to catch them as they fall
stepping on the glass then walking off

happiness seems infinite
then the night turns
I begin burning paper
in my back yard
I have nothing better to do
and no one better to be with
higher than anything I can see
I am looking down at myself
I can see everything so clear
but I am always blurred out
censored
I am a puzzle I can not crack
loving people
and hating their memories
I keep to myself
but my mind crowds me
with everyone I have lost
pecking at me like a night bird
asking questions about thoughts
I try to drown it out with music
but the alcohol that I am abusing
reminds me that I have no clue
as to what it is I am doing
I do know that
I am beginning to loathe this world
you can not just be a recluse anymore
I am even scared of seeing ghosts
at the convenient store
once I close my front door
I feel that nothing and no one can come close
and those ghosts are no more
they are still knocking at my window
I put my headphones on
then stay out of view by sleeping on the floor