The Lonely Stoner

It’s not a particularly interesting night. The dark sky is cloudy causing a characteristic gloom to spread across the land. The moon has long packed her bags and disappeared into the night. She could take the competition no more and has given in to the cloud’s quest for fame.

The only thing that has refused to give in to the darkness is the sole street light at the corner. All its comrades have since been turned and are now rallying for the dark side but this one has stayed resolute. It’s orange glow is fast fading and we fear it will soon succumb to the swoon of the flirtatious darkness. Periodically, it flickers with the intent to quit but, against all odds, it glows back to life. It continues to give hope for the many souls that throng it, looking for solace and salvation.

As I stand below its orange gaze, it creates a silhouette of hope and peace over my already tired and weary soul. In that brief and intricate moment, the chastening over my life choices ceases and tranquility is restored. As I stare into that dim yellow light, I am taken up into a trance, taken up into another reality where I am all I have ever wanted to be…I am happy.

The 1 a.m. wind feels cold. It causes little goose bumps to form on my already pale skin. I run my hands over my arms in a bid to keep myself warm from the numbing cold. I can feel the numerous wounds and scars on my skin as each scrambles to tell its tale of resilience and survival. It has been a rough couple of days and it’s kinda hard to imagine that I made it this far. I remember of the time when I had flawless skin (Cleopatra had nothing on me), a warm bed and people who cared for me. This is where my discrepancies have brought me to. I pull my button up satin shirt closer to my chest, hoping that it will help me brave this East London weather.

With shaking hands, I lift the smoldering cigarette butt to my lips and take a last drag; aware that it’s going to be a while till I can get my hands on another. The smoke fills my lungs, warming me up yet almost chocking me. The sensation is momentary but an oh-so-welcome relief. As the smoke dissipates into nothingness, it narrates the story of my slowly wasting existence.

It has been 3 hours since my last fix. I can slowly feel the withdrawal symptoms marshalling their troops in readiness to ambush me. I am desperate. I need to get me some; to numb my feelings; to blur my mind. I need to be back in my zone; to escape reality and to seal the voice of my conscience. If only I knew how to cure the wound in my heart and remove the scar on my soul.

The burden is too great to bear and the pain too much to take. I desire an escape, to soar through the wind on the wings of my fantasy. I wish it was easier and that things could get back to how they were; to the days of innocence and nights of peace; to rainy summer afternoons and rolling through that autumn leaves; to nights of looking up at the stars and wondering if they ever get lonely.

I don’t remember how I got here, but I know one thing for sure; I don’t want to be here. I hate this abyss, this barren wasteland with a callous heart. It has sucked all positivity out and has chocked the life of all my dreams. And to crown it all off, it has given me a bed mate who I can’t shake off; a thorn in my flesh; a habit I cannot kick; a demon I cannot cast out. It drags me down by day and keeps me up at night.

This is my plight; my fight for all eternity. For I am, the lonely stoner.♠

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