Smokers Lane

I sleep here
so I can’t not notice
it surrounds me
and to be aware, is to be alive
but I try to do my time
and allow them to do theirs
so I don’t judge them
I try not to
but as I walk down this lane
I see masked pain
the lies of men trying to stay sane
the laughs of men cloaking their shame
and they nod off
a nod I’m familiar with
some of these men are as old as the heroine and crack epidemic
in and out of prison, but never fully escaping
but this is their escape
I can only imagine their pain and the things they’ve seen
some are as young as generation Z
having no solid footing and direction in life
just youthful living for the thrill
figuring they have years to sacrifice
the world doesn’t care about them
so why should they care
and so they join generations as old as their grandfathers and great grandfathers
passing time
numbing pain
disguising shame
and they nod off
as if in a hypnotic trans
they are somewhere, this I know
but they are not here
and in that, I guess they are successful
finally successful at something
but reality kicks in, because as they know all too well
nothing lasts forever
and that’s where the chase begins
I guess that’s the only thrill,
the chase
and it’s hard not to judge
because I still have to observe with caution
never knowing when they will snap out of it
and who they will become in the midst
because when they chase
their eyes and mind is just like mine-
tunnel-visioned
walking down this smokers lane