Haze.

Cloud formation
9 degrees from location
I can’t see the formation
Of fear adopting me from temptation

It wasn’t honor or pride
It’s fear of what consequence resides
The naked plush of a lustful rush
In the trippy black out
emphasized by my friend’s paintbrush

I’ve never thought fantasy could be escalated
seems I’ve hit a milestone
I’ve shot up a dragon ride home
Now I’m excited by warmth and fascinated by combs
I’ve never wandered the medieval before
That’s why I stuck to game of thrones

My minds been freed
My body, imprisoned
It can’t be explained but it’s nothing depicted in illustrated predictions of purple, red and off key balance as seen in pulp fiction

They say drug use is escapism
Acid burnt down the bars of social anxiety disorders and confines of 3rd dimensional prisms
Left bare dialectical materialism
Molly taught me how to make friends
While your sobriety made you prone to solipsism

This was always what I’d imagined it to be
When I close my eyes and see
For a while I had looked over the wall than walk through the gate
Always drew the solution with stick to sand but never went into the maze
Always window shopped the shoes
But never tried them on to walked the way
Perhaps it’s a common laymen’s phrase
That drugs are a paradise lost in the haze.