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.