Writing to you
  made me endure the boring dailiness.

Writing to you
  made me forget my sorrows for a while.

Writing to you
  was like painting with my heart.

Writing to you
  was like loving you with my words.

I should never have stopped.

Its been a day
One of those gray
Boring
Days
A day where the rest
Doesnt feel needed
And the taste in your mouth
Of misery and doubt
Doesnt leave
Its been one of those days
Where every word you write
Every word you hear
Every word you read
Is just mush
Gray soggy mush
And everything that you love
Is faded
Unenjoyable
Boring
Its been one of those days
Where want and need
Are one in the same
And the lack of everything
Drills in your skull
Pounding
Knocking away
Reminding you of your prison
Of how you're trapped
Until the next day
Or the next
Its like you're always looking forward
To the next big thing in your life
But sometimes you stop
And lay down
And the whole world turns gray
And theres nothing you can do
So you wait
Until the next big moment
Then you do it all over again

It's sticky and fogs your mind
This green friend of mine
Inhale to feel just fine
As slowly it steals your time.

It comes in the form of a leaf
With it there is no grief
It leaves behind some keef
But it is the time thief.

Many days can go by
****** or completely high
Without blinking an eye
Time begins to fly by.

It makes you do less
You begin to forget success
All you want to do is rest
And smoke it to your chest.

When its time to quit
You realise you're unfit
And couldn't give a s**t
You'd rather smoke and sit.

You might become addicted
Your brain power is restricted
Completely self inflicted
Your motivation misdirected.

Can’t sleep at night,
what’s worse I’m not that alert during the day,
not sure which cam first attentiveness or the sedatives,
not sure which is the chicken and which is the egg,

which came first,
the Chicken or the Egg,
which came first,
the bliss or this pain,

whatever never mind,
who cares anyways,
because the real question is,
who cares anyways,

who cares anyways?

These days most are too inattentive to pay attention,
too unobservant to deserve my service so they’re only purpose is to be subservient,
too distracted by everything expect the instance that they’re in,
don’t even have the strength to concentrate for the length of an entire sentence,

can’t focus on this moment,
when in fact that’s all we ever have,
so really if we don’t hold the moment we hold nothing,
guess is why I only wrote this poem to remind us of that,

as I lay here in this bed,
with so many thought crowding my head,
that I have no room inside my head for Z’s,
can’t sleep I’m wide awake again,

can’t sleep at night,
what’s worse I’m not that alert during the day,
not sure which cam first attentiveness or the sedatives,
not sure which is the chicken and which is the egg…

∆ LaLux ∆

Don’t know how it started,
or if it’ll ever end,
some call it Samsara,
others call it trends,

watched a video on YouTube,
Mac Miller in bed with Ariana Grande,
Mac died last week from an OD/suicide,
after Ariana got engaged to another man,

then I Googled this,
“**** photos of Ariana Grande”,
what’s the matter with me why does everything lead,
to having my thing in my hand,

swear to God YouTube is the Devil,
got me to watch screens,
used to have more freedom,
because I didn’t own a TV,

but laptops just made it all too easy,
now I barely go out,
and when I do it’s usually just for food,
then it’s back to my bed or my couch,

laid up like I’m ill,
typing on my MacBook like an addict,
I mean how do you think I wrote this poem,
I wrote it by typing on my MacBook like an addict,

and I don’t know how it started,
or if it’ll ever end,
some call it Samsara,
others call it trends…

∆ LaLux ∆