Weed

(One of those things that happens at 1:00 in the morning...not sure where it came from...probably all of Rutter's drug stories...)

Unwanted.
Withering.
You tried to kill me in so many ways,
But you never had the
Mercy
To pull me from my Roots
And toss me away.

They say that what you eat
Is what you are.
But it just goes right through you.

No what you smoke-
It's what you breathe,
Slipping through your entire bloodstream
In seconds.
Every inch of your body.
What you smoke
Is what you are.

I would try to hide,
But in a house this small
I could never get far away.
So I'd sit there
With my back to the wall,
Listening to you cough
And cry
And cuss.
I would breathe through my
T-shirt,
Hoping that maybe I could
Keep it out of me,
I could keep you out of me.

But what's in you
Is in me.
Your genes,
Your addiction,
And all your nasty diseases,
Because I never could get
Far enough away.

Now, all we are is
Weeds.
Unwanted.
Withering.
Trying to kill ourselves
In so many ways,
But never
Merciful enough
To try and
Get away.