Long rows of pines, br white mountains of snow, br like the thin lines of blow br that they sniffed like snow drifts two hours ago. br Seasons that change and habits that don’t - br winters of coke br to springs full of hope br to summers of forgetting punch lines to jokes, br autumns of smoking leaves of marijuana trees br back to winters of lines br and the needles of pines, br using needles inside, br injecting their highs, br interjecting their lives, br passing out on the couch. br Life’s passing them by the gram, buy the ounce. br Dirty hail like little black rocks, br the crack rocks they smoked br that they bought on back blocks. br They sit sheltered inside as they watch that black box br smoking holes in their brains, exhaling their pain. br Crumpled dollar bills in the corner with pills, br the same green as the hills that are covered with snow br the same green as the weed they smoked minutes ago br the same green as their carpet all sprinkled with blow br like the evergreen pines. br It’s affecting their vibes; it’s reflecting their lives. br Winter’s depressing, distressing inside, br compressing their lives into sessions of highs br just because it’s too cold to go outside.