Long rows of pines, <br />white mountains of snow, <br />like the thin lines of blow <br />that they sniffed like snow drifts two hours ago. <br />Seasons that change and habits that don’t - <br />winters of coke <br />to springs full of hope <br />to summers of forgetting punch lines to jokes, <br />autumns of smoking leaves of marijuana trees <br />back to winters of lines <br />and the needles of pines, <br />using needles inside, <br />injecting their highs, <br />interjecting their lives, <br />passing out on the couch. <br />Life’s passing them by the gram, buy the ounce. <br />Dirty hail like little black rocks, <br />the crack rocks they smoked <br />that they bought on back blocks. <br />They sit sheltered inside as they watch that black box <br />smoking holes in their brains, exhaling their pain. <br />Crumpled dollar bills in the corner with pills, <br />the same green as the hills that are covered with snow <br />the same green as the weed they smoked minutes ago <br />the same green as their carpet all sprinkled with blow <br />like the evergreen pines. <br />It’s affecting their vibes; it’s reflecting their lives. <br />Winter’s depressing, distressing inside, <br />compressing their lives into sessions of highs <br />just because it’s too cold to go outside.<br /><br />I write because I have to<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/pining-away-2/
