When we were together things didn't seem real until I told you about them
When something happened to me, it didn't really happen until I told you
And now that you're gone
I'm just living in this haze without you
{bcg}

Maybe my writing
Will improve
When strewn over
Blue lined graph paper,
Tiny boxes,
Coaxing out order,
Perhaps even
Clarifying boundaries
Between crazed truth,
And detrimental lies.

The grid putting
Poem in context,
Poem like graph,
Displaying
Levels of THC
Depression
Number of Kisses
Tears Cried
Outliers of secrets uttered.
Box and whisker plot
Displaying anxiety,
Skewed data toward extremes.

No.
Linear writing would
Reveal the chaos inside.
I can't fit the poems
To the squares.
A graph can't really cry
The way a person can.
There's a losing feeling
Etched in pen
On a harshly graded
Parcel of mathematical quizzing
That a poem has no place to
Instill in me.

And no one would
Be able to read my work
The way they tell you to show it.
My poems have no color coding.
Definition between data
Becomes hazy as
Layers of black are added
In empty,
All encompassing anger.
And I smoke while I write tonight,
Haze growing,
Lines wobbled,
And I may have put a poem
On a piece of graph paper
But it's nothing like the math homework
That stays in my backpack.

Your words are like fine wine.

I drink them slowly,

Tasting each syllable and the way you say them,

Savoring each phrase from your lips to mine.

The sound of your voice calms my being.

And relaxes my chaotic mind.

I’ll never have my fill.

You speak so scarcely,

Aging that wine to perfection each time.

I’ll constantly be in a haze of bliss,

If you are around me,

Filling my glass with sips of pure sweetness.

A leather chair
It's comfy
And the headrest actually fits!
The woman
A nurse of some sort
Explains **** near everything
"This does blaahhh
And that does bluhhhhh
And this other thing does
Blegghhhhh"
Thanks.
Let's just get it over with
Then in comes the dentist
Well
He's an oral surgeon
He tells me his name
And hooks up an IV
And in goes the anesthesia

                    BLACKNESS

A comfy chair
I must be coming to
But in the office?
Then I hear the cat
Ohhhhhh
I'm home
Ok
Cool.
What do you mean?
All I can eat is ice cream?
And mashed potatoes?
Ughh... I wish I was back asleep.

I sleep in the morning haze.
Wake in the jubilant night.
Die in the shadows of dusk.

It's too bright and yet there's not enough light
And my eyes are losing the fight to dilate
in the darkness
Pupils never big enough to see
The inconsistent haze that has become my
life

Anticipation climaxes
the moment you unscrew
that seal tight jar
keeping hazy secrets
locked away.
    You're about to touch the
    snow-kissed mountain tops
    and breath air so pure,
    it distorts the very heartbeat,
and that feeling granted only by the enemy
--sobriety--
drags you to hell itself.
It gets off tormenting your every particle of being
but you're clouded in a smokey shield and
wielding the winning sword colored ash black
  (obsidian
     volcanic
       explosive)

Defeat is on the horizon
and you're so high above the battleground
that a giddy serenity enfolds you into the
golden-dipped sunset

But the height only lasts
for as long as you hold in
that choking air

and it's gone

and your sanity returns

and you've never felt
more insane
than ever
before.