Passing days with half empty gasses
I can never seem to finish,
Smoke filters through daylight
With a slow nocuous feeling,
Creeping through stagnate blood
between eyes that barley see.    

Am I sick?
Am I filled with poison?
Damaging the brain
I no longer care to keep.

I laugh inside.
Snicker to myself.
Bodies around me
I pay no mind to.
Why should I show them this feeling?
This glossy existence I call servile,
dreaming my life into a pool of lonely subtlety.

Is it supposed to be this way?
Am I meant to stand alone on barren, dry grounds?

So I'm different.
Deal with it.
I have no reason
Nor desire
to look upon fake happiness between cracked lips.
Hanging somewhere
between a laugh an a scream.

My world is shrouded in smoke.
Smoke that burns my eyes an singes my soul.

I'll find a path less demeaning,
Less worrisome an tiring.

Some call me lazy.
I think of myself as
Sleep deprived,
Waiting for a day I have no other choice but to rest.