Got 20 minutes till I go to my friends house to smoke more, I'll use that time to write this poem. I Call It, Peter Griffin's First Dream Welcome to Grasscity where the grows grows high but not higher than the citizens. A city of grass, rolled, smoked, exhaled into the atmosphere, along with your inhibitions. Burn the evidence, they'll never find it. Burn your inspiration, for you, not for them. Burn yourself, you're a little too high. Never betray the plant who loved you for the plant you love, which is cocaine. Smoke weed, every day, but only with the best intentions. ROLL IT LIGHT IT INHALE EXHALE Everything feels simpler. I miss what we had, but now it's too late. We'll never know what would have happened if only one thing had been different. We're getting along, but just barely, we're moving forward, at one mile per hour destined to eventually be rear-ended. Light up new joint, put on an old shirt, try to remember, forget how my brain works. A smoke filled room fades to black, the echoes of gunfire silence, and the late-late show is finally over.
Poems are gay. Ive tried writing them before. Basically, the point im making is, poems suck. The jist of my argument is that poems are awful. In a round-a-bout way im trying to say that poems are a complete load of shit. My arms and legs are made out of wood. Help me.