Mary Jane and I had what some would call a peculiar friendship. They argued that all she caused was destruction. Destruction to the rest of us who found solace in her burning flames. She stimulated my mind and fed my imagination. “She's not so bad.” I thought to myself. So what if she gave my lips a darker tint with her fiery kiss ? Mary Jane had always been there for me in times of trials. Sacrificing a bit of myself for her companionship was a price I paid daily. She dried each tear I shed at the thought of my deceased mother and burned away my grief. With Mary Jane my lungs ached but it was better than the pain that constantly throbed in my chest and pierced my heart. But with each passing day, she became more demanding of my time. Our relationship which I thought to be of benefit became parasitic. With each kiss she gave, dread and angst filled my very being. The comfort she provided began to dwindle. Rather, it felt like she was stealing from me. She was stealing my peace and was breaking my already troubled mind, but I could not do withouth her. Mary Jane was my friend. She was not always good  but she was there and to me, that was all that mattered.

-friddah