Cigarettes
lack the answers I seek—and self-diagnosed insanity ceases to fulfill me. Poetry
is without and ‘Dear Diary’ is another fail among the many.
Notwithstanding
the absence of old friends who notoriously comfort and numb—begetting me a
complacent place at a comforting pact, I've met new companions to give
solace--two, in fact: a boy and idleness. These keep me company and obviate
loneliness—showing that friends rarely come in forms that are expected.