|
|
Intoxicated
I starting to relize that some people are ment to be by themselves. Only comfort is the bottle and the joint they keep putting out because they tired of being high. Nothng changes and the world moves onward. They stare at my celing and think who am I. The eyes are red not from the THC, but from flame day in the never ending sun. Yet we stare into the sun thinking of the lost wings of who tried to thouch the sun.
I lay a shot glass full on a tombstone good bye again
|
|
Comments