The vanilla candle flickers. Dust settles throughout the dilapidated bedroom. Sun dried walls, light beige carpet, and the light haze of cologne and weed.
The world is ending again. As it did many times before. And people are dying in more ways than one.
Loss of life and laughter and love. The rates stay unprecedented. The world keeps turning.
And I don't know where to begin or where to end. There is too much going on.
So my fingers dip into my metallic blue grinder. It picks up the ground leaves,
plastering seeds into the ridges of my fingertips. And I gently pack another bowl.
Unprecedented seems to be the word of the day.
Spark. Light. Cherry.
Inhale. Exhale. Sink.
And the smoke billows into a thin layer over the length of my king-sized mattress.
The quarantine laid the ugly, naked truth right in front of us.
We were always isolated. Now we just have nowhere to go.
The anxiety still creeps in from time to time. Not enough THC in my bloodstream to quell it. But I still try extremely hard.
A Xanax would probably do.
I keep thinking if I'm taking the right route. I feel like I'm still trying to find my purpose instead of living in the present.
Maybe I do have a lot of anxiety. It was noticed by the psychiatrist right away.
I'll find my way.