she says when i take xanax, im trying to blackout the days. and the next day i dont remember the one before and i do it all over again so i dont remember the day i didnt remember. everyone has their vice. as they quietly sip, snort, inhale, inject, i say nothing. my thoughts arent clear enough to express out loud. and in this mayhem of vices, no one can hear me anyways. im a loud pointless siren saying nothing. pop. xanax silences me. it silences the pointless words coming from my mouth. and if it cant quiet them, it mumbles and jumbles them together so that they dont make sense anyway. it silences my thoughts. all of them. the one where i think about how little friends i have and how little the friends i do have like me. the one where my relationship is a horrible nightmare and i cant get out of it and i cant get in it and im in a limbo of unsatisfaction and loneliness. the thoughts of never getting into a career, being poor, and leading a life in solitude. gone, via xanax. i hear their voices, worried, judging. they dont want me to get hurt, die. im already hurt, dead. the choices made until this point have etched a drug addicted disease for me and in this state, i am caged. you cant free me. i cant free myself. and whats so good outside the cage anyway? ive half assed taken into consideration what i could do/have, and cant find meaning in anything. one day, we will all be dead. and a new generation of future corpses will take our place. but they are, as we are, completely meaningless. if a tree falls in the woods, and no one is around to hear it, does it make a noise? some people ask that question. i dont know why they ask it but seriously, of course it makes a noise. but the thing is, who gives a fuck. in 100 years, no one will know of the tree that fell in the woods. no one will know of your masters degree or three kids or white cadillac. no one will know you spilt red kool aid on your grandmothers quilt and no one will know that instead of cleaning it, you donated it to goodwill. this is because, nothing matters. the days black out slowly. monday, wednesday, sunday. the other days are lost to drugs and soon, these days will be lost too. if we are all going to eventually die, i would like to blackout my way there. whats sooner than later? this is not a suicide note. one can get confused with such words. these are thoughts from my head that go too deep to reach when i want them. these are letters grouped together in a black and white arrangement. these are things that dont matter. just like everything else.