As more smoke filled his lungs from every puff,
everything seemed to disappear.
All the stress seemed to be elevated.
The worry and shame.
The burden and weight.
All of his somehow damaged or disabled friends problems just faded.
He smiled and wondered why every one who walks into his life somehow needs emotional or mental help. Sometimes, physical help.
Even the strongest eventually break in front of him.
As more smoke filled his lungs from every sweet soft puff,
he thought of God and why He has not been able to talk to Him.
He is afraid that anger might consume him and he might curse his creator.
Something he might add to his regrets.
He smiles and shouts to the heavens,
*THEY ALL NEED HELP*
*AND I CANNOT HELP THEM*
If this is a test,
I have failed.
For I am broken too.