He wishes he could remember more.
Remember firsts and lasts and in-betweens.
His mind grew old too fast.
He wonders if it will only go downhill from here.
He was drunk every other night,
High when he ran out of vodka.
But he was not an alcoholic.
He could stop if he wanted to.
But that was the thing…
He did not want to stop.
Sober, he was a Loner.
A Sleeper.
A Silent.
No one ever liked the Loners or the Silents.
He hated the world he was forced to live in.
But the drugs made him happier.
He appreciated the altered state of mind.
He thought it made the world more exciting and less ugly.
Others liked him, too.
And to him, the others became pretty.
So you can call him an addict, a junkie, a drunk, an alcoholic.
But he’s happy.
And his friends are, too.
So who are you to judge him?
You wish you were as happy as him.
You wish the world could turn colorful
And you wish you could see the world spin,
Like a carousel.
He doesn’t remember much,
But he remembers how to see the world through a child’s eyes.
Innocent spinning, innocent falls, innocent laughs.