Anchor

You can't tell me that it's not my place to care, but I won't say a thing even though it hurts to stare at that rusty anchor, shoot it up in your vein. With that look in your eye, I guess you're on the D-train. With a black cloud over your bicep, and that shit's going to drag you down. The lines that formed on your face point straight into the ground. There's nothing more to discuss, because my words won't be so kind. I can't stand the sight of you, but I'd like to see you again sometime not as a drone to your fear, as it's taken you away. I boil in disgust, and all that I can say is, "Just look at you, and these things you do, I can't begin to think about what your family's going through." I see you choking, coughing, and puking. It just doesn't seem like it's all that much fun! SADNESS, DESPAIR, you can do better than that but I guess you just don't care. Your pathetic choking and your puking just doesn't seem like it's all that much fun. And now I walk away. I don't need to stick around. There's nothing I can teach, I'm not one to preach or watch you drag yourself into the ground.