Cloudy as if the sky was filled with deformed marshmallows, that's when you told me it's the perfect weather. before I grew who knew I would be part of that crew that figuratively flew. Highly excited we really were, exaggeration of thoughts stuffed in me when I spontaneously laughed with hands on my chest  because I was cuffed by the high. That feeling was surely one of the best I ever had but I never was prepared for the days that defined Crockett. The substance created the ability to fully focus on a subject made it seem like the substance offered intelligence, with a sigh I never knew it was a lie before I wrote patterns that blew my high. Started as an occasional preference which came with memorable moments later turned to cliches when my lips constantly clamped joints which were on point. From a normal state to euphoria, I assure you I was very far from you. With time, stepping away from the herb just caused depression but I just missed a feeling of another dimension, in deep presence it's just detention. Open field is a fantasy that had been experienced before my eyes pealed to the cage, can the fantasy be restored? My soul is aching every second of the day. Life of a dreaming stoner...wish I could be crushed down to sand so I can snip through any slightly open way, the desire to blend as I glance at the future and a ask if there is any chance? The only  thing that is getting shorter is my wingspan.
Pain becomes food for my heart and joy is scarce like sharpened objects that are confiscated. Thoughts are very dismal, these are thoughts of a prisoner. Soaked so much my personality faded...i don't recognize myself anymore, it's like some RANDOM guy came forth. Life gets harder than nods which I need to hang on these slippery rods. Patience drawn to my eyes, let it show me black and white, a compliment to the colour grey...an upper movement of my eyelids 2am in the morning, a heavy sight of blurry black, thinking of my destination is the complicated "when?" at 3am. In the darkest hours I'm frustrated at my lighter as I try to hit a blunt and all I get is a spark. I had no idea dreams could cause social hibernation. Wonderful words exchanged in a group chat, parks are now thinking places of dark. Fact is words from society are trapped in a net, dogs bark...i never hear a sound, am I stuck?