Green

There are times where I'd like to hack up all feelings and spit them to the ground. There are times where I'd like to allow myself to remember and reach a blissful state of nostalgia once again. But either are dangerous and either are toxic.

What's better? Rolling one, lighting it up, forgetting? Or being who you want me to be, without the poison of distractions, and remembering all of it. Each memory more painful than the last.

They ask me why I hurt myself. Inhaling the poisonous remedies, coughing out my memories. Maybe it's easier to run than to be confronted by the demons and desires of my past. Maybe I don't want to think about them.