The exit button



My friend is on weed... at least,
Living from one joint to another,
Cloudy mind and ashy mist,
Saddening his mother, his father...

My friend is playing with fire
And no hope can lift him from there,
Walking careless on a wire
To a well known place: nowhere.

My friend said he’s had enough,
Doesn’t believe in ideals and crap
Life is bitter, bitch and rough
There’s no hope to fill this gap.

My friend is on another time zone
In slow motion and seems lost
Tuning in his hidden cone,
Falling in love with a ghost.

He’s so thin and frail, my friend,
Glad to see me now and then,
Hardly talks, the time we spend
Barely says three words... or ten.

He said he’s looking for a button or so
The Exit button to this place
He smiles to me, and yet, he’s low,
It’s in his eyes; it’s on his face...

Life doesn’t come designed too well
There’s no Exit button in red
He doesn’t want to go to hell
He’s not that coward, not that bad...

April 4 2012, Toronto





By adria
© 2012 adria (All rights reserved)
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