Poetry
They say the road
Winds, like smoke
When it twirls in the night’s sky
But when your hallucinogenic sight
Meets your skewed mind,
The road isn’t the one
That’s winding.
But, sweet thing, you know what’s crazier?
When a man tastes you and spits you out
Like some leftover tobacco.
It’s then you need
Another hit.
And another.
You forget to feel
Because feelings are for the aware,
And I’m so ignorant.
Or at least they like to think I am.
Look at your precious eyes, full of innocence
You don’t need this world
Like it needs me
You have more to see
Than the intimate part of a man
You have more to experience than
This crystal magic
It’s white and delicious –
Black and evil all the same
It’s the demon
I hope you’ll never see.
So float away little angel,
And always think of me.