An internal toll.

Priorities were set, time was lost through stress. 

Making time for good old buddies was all put to rest.

Hours were rewarded, space for fun was given.

But with an addiction, friends rarely will listen.

Words without a context mean very little.

Unable to express myself, because he is unable.

Our time rewarded had come in quantities. 

I built up courage to explain this isn't what's to see.

All the constant puffing had him normally choking,

Static grew between us as there was more smoking. 

Eventually the smoke cleared up, he was not in sight.

Now I spend my time alone because I chose to fight.



This poem is about: 


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741