Take another puff
Float up to the sky
All I need is another hit
Just one more
And I'll be high
High above the worry
High above the pain
Floating comfortably in peace
Feeling nothing but at ease
This pleasant feeling
I must be dreaming
Not a worry on my mind
Only laughter and red eyes
Maybe I'll be creative?
Write a poem or two
Maybe I'll be lazy
Eat some cereal, then some pie
What is this feeling
I haven't felt in quite some time
I feel it bubbling from inside
Is it hunger?
Is it hate?
It's something different
Not from what I ate
I know this feeling
I've figured it out
No more stress
No more worry
No more anxiety
Yes I know this feeling
I'm feeling happy

I am an altar boy inside the Church of
Continuous Wasted Opportunities.
Smell that pungent incense?
It is most definitely all that it seems to be.
This God’s gift to mankind is what the three
wise men were really trafficking—bringing
forth a dank Exodus unto the Savior’s parents.
They didn’t inhale the serpent’s lure, of course.
Rejoice, one and all, across the land!
Hallelujah, all ye indigo children of the desert!
Now, a reading from the Book of Wardo,
verse four, passage twenty:
“And it was told that the ancient Aryana region would
offer up such magical wonderment, derived from the
sacred Kush bush, assisting the holiest disciples who
prefer a mystically passive respite—for these blessed
aficionados represent the completely frazzled and yet
cautiously chosen few.”