Can you see me? Can you see me now?

Two years away from home this August.

My parents were so proud
To see me spread my wings,
To see me escape the horrid valley
And head toward the land of
Milk & Honey
Cement & Smog.
I was told the city held promises.
Higher learning.
Life.
Light.

Instead I got on my old habits again.
Picked them up off the soggy streets
Like cigarette butts in my dreams.
Thin, damp and twisted,
But still a tiny spark.

Smoke stains sinewy fingers, and
Capsules slosh in my angry stomach acid, and
Rocks chip my grinding teeth, and
Granules bleed my nose bone-dry.
I sometimes feel ashamed.
I always feel sore.

Can you see me now daddy?
Are you proud of me now?

I never should have left home.
The vices never leave.
And sometimes I just miss the comfortable fog.