Over time I transitioned from books to drugs.
I used both for the same reason:

to escape.

Breathing in the rich hot air, is a budding dark red rose;
tall and triumphant it grows, jutting out its vivid green thorns for a naive deer to witness,

the scent of spices in the heavy air from my mom’s cooking is inhaled by the flowers and weeds, both intertwined and gleefully bursting out towards the welcoming daylight,

the leaves of parched trees whistle and sway with the occasional hot breeze
and the wind chimes dance with raw tunes, glistening in the thick heat,

I scrunch my face and glare at the sizzling white sky
where the sun lord shines with no restraint on my messy dark haired head,
right through my ripped blue shorts and light purple tank top,

walking barefoot from scalding rough concrete onto scratchy green grass
towards the lawn chair shaded underneath the tall dark pine tree,
I sit and take a sip of my icy cold cherry coke, popping chewing gum in my mouth

as I lean back to read To **** A Mockingbird by Harper Lee,
enjoying a light daydream of Atticus Finch
with the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up in the tangible summer heat,

just like the guy standing and looking out the living room window
of the house across from mine, gulping down icy cold beer
and watching with vague interest the girl with bare feet lounging on her front lawn, sweat dripping off her neck like droplets of cold water coursing down a melting icicle,

I look up, shading my eyes to watch a noisy jet fly high in the sky
leaving behind a vacuum of white fluffy clouds in the shapes of loops and swirls
I grin; somehow they spell my name in jagged humid strips of air,

the screen door swings open with a loud creak, followed by the sound of my mom hollering my name,
I sneak one last glance at the guy who looks like Atticus Finch,
and leave him to be alone with the heat as I head inside.

Fantasy has always been
my Achille’s heel
You’re just an ideal
with *** appeal
Not real

A sticky note somewhere
Reminds me to be aware
of what’s next to do

Instead
my bad habit I pursue
Getting lost in a daydream
featuring you

We live on different continents
You don’t even know I exist
Yet I still imagine the
taste of your kiss

You’re so lovely
This isn’t reality
But I think
I’ll stay here awhile
Where I can smile
Where I never cry

Today is but a day, for yesterday was a day, as tomorrow is another day, so what for today?
Today is now, in the moment.
Today is in real time, no wondering, and no remembering.
It is happening as you read this.
So today is not life, nor death, but it is everything you think it can be, or it is but just another day, we call today.

Am I insane?
I simply can't tell.
Always chattering away,
but just to myself.

Behind the walls
and underneath the blankets,
there lives a ravenous girl
who dreams up a place
that's not full of loneliness.

You are the almost-silent
of my coffee-stained summer.
You are the clear and tender
plucking of guitar strings
on a lazy afternoon;

With sunlight streaming through
the painted window,
just bright enough to fill the room
but gentle enough to fall asleep to;

with the smell of everything we love—
caffeine and chocolate and banana muffins—
seemingly coursing through our veins
with every breath we take;

with the daydream of
what-could-be lingering
in the haze, in the silence
it sits,
it waits.

I proceed to the only thing
I know how to do
at this hour of day:
I stare at the cars passing by,
all the while wishing
I was staring at you instead.

I wasted my day reading poetry
Thinking of you while I read
It passed as I listened to love songs
Though the whole time you filled my head
Before I knew it darkness fell
I'd spent most of the day in bed
But sod it I thought
I adored every moment astray I was led
Beautiful daydream delicious and tasty
You certainly kept me well fed