The Friend Zone

I see you happy when you’re high,
I see you sober, I see you cry.
It hurts to see you shut away from your emotions. Loud noises in your head, anxiety leads to commotion.  Misfiring neurons in your brain, causing pain, altering memories it’s insane.  To think that just a few hits can lead to this and what’s left of you but a shell with no wits?
Disorientation of 94 million people in this nation; Waiting for the high to dissolve just to take another hit. Like a quick fix, like throwing a band aid on illness or cutting your wrists. Providing that feeling of relief for a moment so brief, that it won’t be long before you have to make another slit, or find a scab to pick to release endorphins for the moment in which you cant control it.
Now we aren’t friends and I’m a joke because I won’t toke and your new friends are the bad influence who took you by majority vote. You say like you don’t need me in your life, your right! You don’t, but one of me is worth ten of them and you traded me for less and then, you sober up and feel regret, like doubling your money on a minimum bet. It wasn’t worth the prize but you were seeing with clouded eyes.
Now it’s been hours since you were high. You’re freaking out, your phone is dead. Anxiety is back, reality now rushing through head. You’re all alone and can’t control; the pain you masked away all day. You have no answers you have no high your friends are gone you want to cry but not alone and wonder why; you are bound; to the ones you count on who aren’t around. Who is left to tell you lies, like” you’ll feel better if you get high”.
These people you smile for smile back as long as you are wearing your mask; of lies they told like, “I care about you” but here’s the truth, wont they won’t say, my cares conditional until the day in which we no longer relate and your left with alone with no one to hate and feelings you  can’t eliminate.
Only then will you look back at that ass who chose to discriminate, against the influence that took place that day. Wishing he were here and thinking of the things you’d say. Thinking it’s too late.
Losing control you hit the floor but just before the tears begin to pour; you’re lifted up and your head is placed, on the shoulder of the man; who never went away.