The Futility of Existence Vs Soma

 
Cannabis
keeps despair
at bay,
 
except
for when
it doesn’t.
 
At times,
the monster
expands to such
cinematic dimensions
 
that no weapon
can vanquish it.
 
Then I
take a nap
until it goes away.
 
At 64,
I’m just glad
to wake up.
 
Fresh coffee,
breakfast,
maybe a puff
or two.
 
Fuck it.
 
Existential angst
is for those
who can
still afford it.
 
I can’t
be bothered,
anymore.