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The temperature in the room is high
Thick, sweaty bodies grind to the rhythm
As music swells like smoke coming
From the joints being passed around
Laughter fills the air as full as the cups
That clutter her bedroom, like the friends
On her bed, sharing the bench in front of the keyboard,
Making out in her closet, and behind her *****
Shower curtain. She’s faded, just like the rest of them,
But through the clouds of smoke and conversation,
The date circled in black on her calendar
Reminds her of the day her mother fell to her knees
In the middle of the grocery store screaming,
Like the ****** girl who hears a funny joke
In the background, after getting a phone call
That would rewrite the date, no longer a stoner’s holiday,
But the same day as seven years before, when her mother,
Once in the car, continued hyperventilating, no passerby
Stopping to help, or to ask the twelve-year-old girl
What was wrong, like her friends who try to do so
Now as she stands and picks a picture off the shelf
Her aunt in it, alive, and kissing her cheek. /Are you okay?/
A hand comforts her shoulder. /I think I’ll smoke a little more./
She loses the staring contest and hands the picture back to the shelf.

-E (c) 2018
Jaimi M Feb 2018
Let me get drunk on your lips
and high in your hands;
hold me as I ride out this curious
combination.
Don’t let my lips get lonely
or my skin grow cold.
We both don’t need forever
only here and right now
shameless alcoholic for your lips
and stoner for your touch
-JRM
I never understood why you,
laugh at everything.

Is it my general presence,
an insult or compliment
to my company?

NO. It's cannabis.
You're a little stoner.
-WRR
Jack Feb 2018
High as a kite he soared,
Visions of worlds running by, never bored,
Filling his lungs, letting go of the weight he flew,
In the end just another distraction from you.
Anything to forget. Stay Strong and Live Well. JY x
stephanie Jan 2018
i take that pill
as a substitute
for ****.

it's not an exact
replica, though.
the effects are

almost completely different.
my drowsiness is more
zombie-like

rather than
playful and
light-hearted.

the high makes
my stomach turn
not growl with hunger.

I don't want to sound
like a cliche hippie,
but I prefer the herb.
Azrapse Nov 2017
how ironic
That these clouds of indo
Clear my mind
from all these thoughts
That be eating away at my mental
sanity
But I guess it makes sense
Cause it's just blocking all my receptors
Preventing me from going insane
Zero Nine Nov 2017
Thought I was high
Then, I felt a memory
Thought I was high
Thought I was safe
Then, I felt some emotion

What if I sold my soul for the green of grass?
What if I smoke my ambition in a bowl?
What if I bake the little dough I make?
What if I'm red-eye all day?

Then, I'm a peasant.

What if I send my nightmares away, ablaze?
What if I exchange the pain in my body for body rolls?
What if I buy a ticket to ride, unafraid of eyes?
What if I'm dead all day already?

Then, I'm lifted.
JBH Nov 2017
Feed your head

That was the first thing the stoner said

Followed by

Give it some time

Take a ****

Inhale the smoke


And blow your ******* mind


And behold this trippy plain

And it's all thanks to Mary Jane
Aaron LaLux Sep 2017
Inspirational passions,
passin’ in the Fast Lane actin’ dready no Andretti no crashin’,
cashin’ bowls and buying vowels,
moving bowels from full plates No Alex Trabek no rations,

no talkin’ trash wheels spinning no traction,
no mackin’ all in ******* heavy weight UFC non-stop action,

this is angry aggression mixed with considerate compassion,
this is six men on six horses at 6pm screamin’ six guns blastin’,
through an actual galaxy of factual fallacies,
with cash counting kings and hash smokin’ assassins,
killin’ the villains and other shady characters,
to protect the women and children from the lawless badmen,

and those that know know and those that don’t don’t,
so there’s no need to was time askin’,
all knowns shown through prose and poem,
the words your eyes have heard are everything that happens,

well then,

welcome if you come in peace please have a piece of the pie,
high as Heaven on Cloud 9 in line with inspirational passions,
thought we’d escaped and found a way out,
but instead found outt we’d be summoned back in,

Inspirational passion,
passin’ in the Fast Lane actin’ dready no Andretti no crashin’,
cashin’ bowls and buying vowels,
moving bowels from full plates No Alex Trabek no rations,

no talkin’ trash wheels spinning no traction,
no mackin’ all in ******* heavy weight UFC non-stop action,

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

from THHT2: Nightmares & Dreamscapes
A worldwide #1 best selling poetry book

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