It is Freshman year in college and the freedom is unbelievable. The drinks are being poured as we speak and the blunts have made their way around this 420 gang way too many times. From somewhere deep within my subconscious, the agony of what I have become screams out, almost drowning me out from reality.  I fight. I fight it so hard because I know IT is right and I am wrong because I know what is right and what is wrong.  But somehow I have begun to try to convince myself that everything is going to be okay by justifying the haze in my lungs and the tingling feeling in my nerves.  With my heart and conscious and mind on rampage of their own, tugging and pulling me away from my  reality of red cups and pretty glass pipes.  I don’t want to acknowledge this tonight, just let me have fun; I plead with. . .myself? Is it taking over so quickly that suspect and authority have become one? This may yet be good night.   But there I go again, brushing my sin under the carpet where I hope (but I know otherwise) God cannot see.  Because I know what He and they would think.  I sung in choir, I was president of the young people, I know.  For a moment though, I don’t want to think about all of the NOISE. No music playing but my head is spinning, but not in the way that I want it to. I’m suddenly aware of my surroundings while the lucky ones are stuck in that blissful place I left behind.  Now I am miserable again, because I know what I have to do. What I need to do. What I should do. But the truth is, I love what I’m doing. Pass me another cup. . .