Little spoons
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*Little Spoons*
I have some tiny golden spoons. They were for spices — for saffron, for salt, for the small measures.
I gave one to a friend. I’ve known him five years. He uses it to put meth in his pipe. He is a functioning addict. I do care for his well-being, and if he was not doing so well, I would mention it.
That crutch can take many forms — from alcohol to overeating.
Personally, I sometimes use THC edibles and write. It helps when I just don’t seem to have any imagination. It gives me inspiration on occasion, while lifting any melancholy.
It would seem everyone has a crutch of some sort, if they were honest with themselves.
The question, I suppose, is not whether we lean, but what it costs us to lean, and whether we can still stand up straight after.
In our most intimate thoughts, we already know what our problems are. Down deep, buried inside us, are also the answers. The subconscious is separate. It is not as affected by crutches the same. Alone in the dark, it can be our best friend. It’s where our inspiration and originality comes from.
In other words, don’t judge by outward appearances. Artists and poets may appear disarrayed, but inside may lie a possible Nobel Prize.
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