Meth Mouth

These problems exist inside my mind like a heavy New Orleans fog

My thinking has slowed itself down to a crawl unwillingly

Compassion fueled

By depression

My savior is death

Does this make sense

My love is silenced

By ignorance

My answer is death

Does this make sense

The wind has picked up since last night and it carries with grief

Our worried nature drowns us in a frigid ocean of regret

My breathing stands still just long enough to feel inept

Me

On the receiving end of honest hostility

And you

On the giving end of the candid frustration