It's not the drugs. It's not the stimulus. It's not the effect. This was never and will never be about the drugs. This is about the faux-cure to loneliness, to a broken home. Not just for me and you and them... for everyone. That is all we are. We are fractured kids made of broken glass and duct tape with film reels of prehistoric tragedies still perpetually playing on the backs of our eyelids. We are called drug users for a reason. We take what we want and give nothing back, and I guess by that logic we are modern day pirates. We pillage and rape your mental fortress. We tear down your walls with empty smiles, distant eyes, and promises of "family." Like I said, it's not the drugs. It's the feeling of home. That one thing we never had. The one thing we never got right. We built it ourselves with bandaged hands and rusted nails, and yet...we're suprised when it collapses around us. Once the sweet-smelling walls of smoke fall, we have nothing to block our perception of reality. We see what we've done and it eats away at our sanity...so much so that we crave the one thing we know destroyed us. So we perpetuate this cycle. Again and again we fail and we refuse to acknowledge this lack of logic on our part. And no, we are not ignorant of this, nor do we pretend to be. We are well aware of all that we have done and all that we will destroy, and yet we continue. We are unstoppable, infallible, unbreakable in our flaws. It's the one constant in this life: we will always disappoint.