Day by Day, Just Another Hit

Sitting alone in an empty room, 

I am surrounded by infinite displays of my lonliness;

the paintings will speak for that.  

There is no happiness alive in here anymore.  

I'm alone with a curse that now defines me.  

Meaningless photographs are tacked to the cheap, poorly painted walls.  

Depictions of wolves and other woodland creatures litter the floors.  

When did I become so tragic? 

I have to ask myself this every day, 

day by day, 

if only so I can retain my sanity.

What is it that I can return to now?  

My family is gone,

disappointed in my desolation.  

Friends are now "reclusive", 

spending time with people more invested in their pathetic lives.  

And then they have the audacity to call me pathetic?  

I'm in my glory, 

I think. 

Day by day, 

I can turn to certain drugs to ease my pain.  

Is it abuse? 

I hardly think so. 

I don't rely on the drugs.  

I just use them.  

They open up a new world 

and I can see things I wouldn't normally see. 

Does that mean I'm abusing them? 

That's an absurd reaction that you're giving me.  

You're looking in on my life,

observing my pain, 

offering no condolences, 

and then judging me? 

That's hardly right at all.

Just one more bump.  

Hold on.

Only one more Doc,

I swear.

It gets better from here!

Here's the high!

Oh my,

Doc, you wanna try?