Some months ago I gave up using pot.
I had to stop inhaling smoke or vape.
My bronchiae protested such a lot
I heeded, though too late for full escape.
I sampled edibles, but their delay,
and flavor that repelled or led to more
than needed, didn’t satisfy the way
I wanted from the stuff I liked before.

I always knew there’d come a time to quit
if I lived long enough, but the surprise
was how the ending felt appropriate,
and bettered me in mood. Today’s surmise –
I used to use to alter how I thought,
and didn’t notice changes aging wrought.