Smoke

The monsters never lived in my closet or under my bed. They lived under the same roof in the next room. I spent my days and nights trying to stay afloat. I'd lay in bed holding my breath trying to keep perfectly still, hoping it wouldn't find me. I didn't exist any longer, just a shell. Standing in front of the mirror I had no idea who was looking back at me. On table in the living room there were a few photos, the kid in the picture looking straight at me didn't mean a damn thing to me. I didn't know who they were. 


One night when I was hanging out with my friends they started to pass a joint around, saying I looked to tense and needed to relax. I took a hit and I was hooked, I needed it. I needed to feel numb, I had to. It was the only thing that could make me stand still without making me feel like I was about to fall to the floor and splinter into a thousand pieces. It kept me safe, wrapped me up in it's smoke like a cocoon. Nothing could get to me. No one could get to me.