Riding in a hardtop with a few friends.
Heads get groggy as grass burns between the lips
With every pull of the roach, it repossess the swelling at the tip.
My cranium fills with this potion sensation
hip rotation.
The air becomes dense
then everything makes sense;
I have a roof over my head, but I hardly stand under it.
No wage
No claim that I am legal until the come of age.
Society reeks of imperfection.
Because society learns from received education
Rather than stepping into the natural world.
Where we stumble on honest situations, like meeting new friends.
I walk upon the concrete streets, freely.
The only routes I know are my true friends’ homes.
But my superego tells me that I am alone.
In this world I walk solo.
And my only soul purpose is to free my spirit.
Be free of mind while taking a hit.