Twelve Eighteen A.M.

How did we find ourselves here? This place, so familiar now, why are we here? How do we get out? I look over at my peacefully drugged induced sleepy boy and wonder what the poison is doing to his body, coursing through his veins. His little innocent veins, tainted with a life too old, too complicated for their naivety, their youth. Forcefully aging him as little league, soccer and piano lessons pass him by, waiting for a better time of life. Mocking him as they continue on without his participation. When is a "better time of life"? Will it ever come for you? You are stronger than anyone I know. You fight in the trenches, I will fight with you. I WILL fight with you.