If we all smoked ****
and wrote poems
and freed ourselves of things we are meant to be free of
and let go of our petty misconceptions
and danced a little longer-

If we all forgot what we 'should' do,
and went with our instincts
and learned how to love
and stopped drawing those
stupid little lines in the sand-

If we all stopped listening to the nagging voices
of our mothers
and learned to think for ourselves
and painted art worthy of life
and forgave instead of forgetting-

In this magical place, love reigns supreme
the heart is not culled
the mind is unchained.
Your soul reaches new heights,
all mothers let them be-

In a faraway, mystical land, where everything is free,
then maybe,
just maybe,
you'd fall in love with me.

Now I'm high and high poetry works really well, as per experience so here we go.

Music always helps me when I write
I just let it take me somewhere.
I'm here now.

I don't know where exactly "here" is, but I like it here.
Nothing matters in the land where the music comes from.
Everyone is free the experience whatever they want to without fear of being judged by anyone because all anybody cares about is how the music makes them feel and the journey that they are on.

And then sometimes you meet that one person that shares a moment with you on your journey.
Someone that has the same experience as you when you hear that cry of the creature of the land that music comes from.
And they are the most beautiful person in the world to you at that moment.
You would do anything for them
In that moment.

And then as soon as the creature of the land where music comes from opens it's mouth to sing that beautiful song that brought you two together he closes it and they disappear.
        
Forever.

Because nobody ever feels the same way about a song twice.
There is always something different the next time.

You're never different.

I realized that I only miss you when I'm high.
I'm always high though, so maybe I'm trying to prolong your stay and torture myself with the thought of not being able to have you again.
I am realizing even more now as I write this, that I only miss you when I'm high.
Maybe I just want to remember you and pretend to be able to feel you again.

Don't kick off me this writer's high,
Take my pen, will  make me cry.

The paper's my quilt, where I write my muse,
Warming all souls which have taken their views

So let the ink dry, straight from quarry.
This writer gets high by telling his story.

I wonder how many seconds of insane courage it would take me to get up and walk away from everything I've ever loved. To never look back and willingly end up lost. I want to get caught up in the moment of being lonely and let it take me away. Away from here.At one point in your life, you'll feel like your back is against the wall and there's no point in looking for a way out. Today I caught hold of that feeling, a black restlessness settled in my bones and urged me get lost and run away. Sometimes I think it would solve all of my problems and that all of the people who ever used me would wake up with saddened hearts and guilty minds. It would be nice to leave behind a world of hurt for a beautiful, bright light.