Sing the Sweet Serenade, will you?

The powder lies on the table in rows
while he takes his hits, I sit and watch.
Is this his newest hobby?
Getting fucked up and acting like a psychopath?
He feels like this is his escape.
From love,
from life,
from work,
from the world's anxiety.
It makes him calm, in a theoretical sense.
Whatever happened to good fun?
That was thrown down the garbage disposal years ago.
He no longer values himself.
He thinks of himself as worthless,
as white trailer trash.
He lost his identity years ago,
when he decided that caring wasn't good enough anymore.
He lost his self respect,
his friends,
self-esteem.
His self integrity fills the toilet as he takes another hit.
He no longer feels anything.
He is now, numb.
He is my friend,
and there's nothing I can do.
You don't know how hard it hurts, seeing your friend like this,
Sing the sweet serenade, will you?