Dear Marijuana,

You are no longer fun to smoke but I still can't let you go. You bring me paranoia, confusion, and fear. You made me delusional and self centered,living in my own narcissistic and private world. You no longer expand my social consciousness, you limit it. You made me withdrawn and isolated. You made me too frightened and numb to open myself up to intimacy. Our symbiotic relationship is done. You are my occasional hookup now, not my regular fuck. I smoked you every day for four years. I smoke you alone all the time. Sometimes I feel more attached to you than my friends. I used to think that a week long break from you was something to be proud of. Now I think you're limiting my potential. Aren't you pissed of at alcohol--the increasing role that fiery bitch is playing in my life? She's dangerous too. Anyways, I miss you. I haven't bought you in a long time. Do you miss me too? Oh wait, you're a inanimate fucking object. I'm pissed off that many of my closest friends all smoke you and that we have a fraternity that revolves around your consumption and I don't know what friend means anymore anyways.

Peace,
C