A pathetic urge to feel away
So by my window I smoke a big J.
As I inhale, my head turns into a big empty stadium.
The street lights are on and everybody sleeps.
The air is cold, I can see my breath from inside my room.
Ashes fall into my notebook. I dirty my pinky by sweeping them off.
I feel better than dead.
There is an ease to my wondering mind,
Bathed in a white foamy smoke.