[Oh shit, he just took a huge fucking hit...]
The scientific name of this here spliff is: Splificus Erecticus.
The way the air I breathe leaves my lungs makes me wonder how I fucking got here and remain. Did I--hold on a sec--suck or gasp to get to live? Did my lungs scream from exhaustion or do they glow with some great grimace? Fuck, I feast on clouds of smoke daily, so sometimes I wonder how the rest of me copes, ya know? Do my lungs hate my brains because they always feel so good? Is there some internal struggle that reveals the shallow jealousy of my heart versus my head?
Oh that rolls very well off of my fucking tongue huh? I could tickle with a touch if I felt the tendency but thankfully I am... [Takes another hit.] I'm satisfied with the truth.
Ahem... The night is mine and I now sit in the aftermath of a mind trip or mind bender bending by beams and gleams seeming to do what ever it means. I rolled a spliff tonight with one purpose in mind, to ascend, whether it's an ascension remains to be seen but I wanted to get baked is my point. I grinded-----> rolled------> and licked--ha-ha that sounds remarkably sexual--my papers, crafting the means of my rapture/departure but maybe all I want to do was escape?
Roll, roll...
Roll, roll...
Roll, roll...
I light again and...
"A great many people think they are thinking when they are merely rearranging their prejudices."
~William James~
[He took the wrong time to exhale my friends, that boy shouldn't have smoked anything.]