I miss you,
with thoughts and feels but only when I'm high.
As the moon reaches up the sky, I sigh.
I'm with my friends. They're fine. They're loving.
And I've never said I envy the moment of intimacy, intoxicated misery; they call it love.
Love?
Is that even what they want, need, admit to aim for?
But I only remembered this when I was sober, when my world was grey and my mind was running over.
Then cig after cig I knew what they meant by being lover.
Indoctrinated love I've never searched for — more over.
I wake up and notice I was never really sober.
August 13, 2023
YOU ARE READING
Nepenthe
Poetry- something that can make you forget grief or suffering. tw: mentions of drug usage, strong language. © Self made book cover & pictures, may 2023.
