sore lungs and disappearing brain cells/
reggae music, or the soft gurgle of bubbling water/
It is fascination with the reflection of light on
a mirror, or dust settled on a tabletop/ Joy, as
a definitive statement is time slowed down/
each minute lasting an hour, and the deep,
dank smell of the milky smoke/
It reaches the pit of your stomach, enclosed within
the depths of your mind/ Pink Floyd/ Each trip to
the kitchen an epic battle with your mind's contorted
thoughts/ Suddenly the soft thrum of rock music fixates
you, and tasks linger floating in the air,
like thoughtless, puffy clouds/ You laugh and say
you like your beats fast, and
your bass down low, so we say
Yeah, that was my ode to intoxication. Woo.
Do you ever feel like everything is beautiful, in its own ways?
Sometimes I wish people could understand me.
