Shade of Health
I took two melatonin last night and I’m still feeling them now at 10:16 am. These days my only complaint is I’m too sober. Gone are the days the melatonin tickled me like a back rub, now they hit like bricks over an unassuming head. The worst type of sober is when you aren’t trying to be. You aren’t healthy, you're not determined or wielding any sort of honorable self control. Life has just given you lemons and forgotten the gin, the wine, the weed, the dried mushrooms, the whiskey in your tea. I’m not sober because I’m better than The Drunk, nor am I motivated by any outside satisfaction. My sobriety is accidental, a side effect of my profession, a requirement of my geographical location. If I could change anything it would be the smell of my hair— too clean. Too rid of burned leaves. I want the stench of a spliff on a Sunday morning, Tuesday afternoon, Thursday evening. I’m bored of standing in the sun yet remaining this fruitless shade of health.
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