smoking. again. |
2002-11-08 - 10:05 a.m.
so we did it again. i don't think it's that we plan it out, i think we just naturally gravitate toward it. to the house that has it. to the playground to smoke it. it's getting to be routine. smoke smoke smoke. it's all we do anymore.
"i have to warn you - this stuff is better than it was last time. don't set yourself on fire."
nobody set themselves on fire, but one of us did get the urge to climb to the top of the playground tower and get stuck.
yeah, that'd be me.
keep in mind that it seemed a good idea at the time. maybe not one of my best, but a good one nonetheless. also keep in mind that it was a long way down. [long.] [way.] so i got stuck. i can't get down. they laugh and laugh as i try to get down. then i stop because i know it's hopeless. i sit there, my body frozen and my nose running and my ass in pain from being wedged into a triangular shape. soon i tell them of my plans to take over the world from this position. it's high up here. i'm high up here. it all makes sense. soon, though, i get down. with no help from them! but it was nice up there. it was. i would've stayed a while if they'd let me. but it makes it hard for a person to concentrate when all they can hear is this:
last night i slept well. so i made a poem for God. it goes a little somethin like this:
Thank you for my warm bed
thank you for my floaty head
thank you for the covers that are warm
thank you for the mattress that fits to my form
thank you for the drugs that made me high
thank you for the brain that i have to fry
thank you that i slept so very well
thank you and i hope i don't go to hell.
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