breaking it down is half the work
a step that must never be skipped
rolling it up in your leaf of choice
is a step that must be considered art
the first light is the most important
a step that is for the one who crafted
they should also be the first to enjoy it
a step the rest respect
eventually all power is seemingly gone
from the one who created
and everyone feels equal once their turn has passed
yet let us not forget the one who rolled it
for they are the one who has saved the rest

I feel like I'm
holding my breath,
waiting,
waiting for something
to happen,
even though
I know
nothing will.

these messy
minds of ours.
the only thing
they're good for
is writing idiotic words.

What day is it where we at, where is
the ****, were you trying to smoke
my cat??

I see things through glassed eyes,
my mouth has the hunger, but I'm
to ****** to drive, Whats in the fridge
in the cupboard, fck it i can make a
munchie feast out of that.

I smoke with friends or when alone, i,ll
smoke in the dark room the spliff my
only light I see *"wow look at those trails...

I have speed dial on my phone 1 is my
frindly dealer who delivers to my home,
2,3,4 take away pardise they no what I
want when ever I phone.

I,m a stoner there is no mistake, I will
always be happy unless my **** does
get braked, and if my phone battery dies
no mucnchies, no smoke, I couldn't deal
with that, *"wow look at the pretty lights,

Summer in Bermuda, licker could be nice
An over dramatic garden
on a phosphorescent football.

There's a stream running through,
In translucent yellow.
Fertile with life passing by.

This thing inside me, this army of strife,
Is soldiering around me against the malitia of life.
I'm passing by with a strong gain of muster,
Treading through the garden with childlike guster.

Smoke another cigerrette, dream of watching four tet.
Guess you could call this the calm before the storm.

"Stoner's Poem"

I see your snapstories,
I see your ask profile.
I see how you comment and reply and flaunt your English skills.
Trust me, I love your rebuttals,
More than Biryani and the Lebanese pornstar.
I see your Facebook posts,
I see your WordPress,
And I see, how you craft your poems flamboyantly,
And then, and then,
Pilfer my breath,
And rob my me.
Sometimes, just sometimes,
Your deportment bewilders me,
More than Lowry-Bronsted's theory.
I see how you dance in the rain,
Like "All, sin, tan, cos", do in my brain.
I see how you frequent every segment of my cardiac muscle,
And then desert it, like it's one of the many dilapidated constructions.
My reminiscences about your thingness,
Escalate me to a higher spiritual level,
More than **** does.
Oh, that smile,
Oh, that look,
Oh, the mystique in you.
And again, I am writing of Love.
And the pen doesn't seem to stop soon,
For I have taken a greater risk,
Than asking my friend about cathodes and anodes and electrolysis, while I took my last chemistry exam,
When the invigilator was around.

I love when you all over my lips
And it's the same air that you and I breathe.
As I take you to cleanse my soul
With each breath I take you in.

Why would I ever want to leave,
When you keep me afloat when I'm drowning in my tears
And vanish with my fears when I prophesy the future bleak.

I blow you one last kiss,bye,
As you burn,while you whisper with the winds "everything's all right"

now it's come to this,
my sweet marijuana miss.
ugh i cannot sleep.

Buddy Buzzkill
Waits ‘til nobody’s home
Jimmies a window, sneaks in
And is free to roam.
He smokes all the dope
Drinks all the alcohol
Eats all the food
Until none is left at all.
Then he sleeps in your bed
And sneaks back out again
He comes back; hears you moan
How somebody broke in
And robbed him when he was not home.

Buddy Buzzkill
He’s a special king of louse.
He pretends to like you
Then, sleeps with your spouse.
He’ll hit you up for money
Then he’ll borrow your car.
And you lend it to him
That’s the kind of sap you are.
What is it about this guy
That makes it hard to say no?
Why does it not occur to folks
To look at him and say, “Blow!”

Buddy Buzzkill
He’s a master at telling tales
Of people he has laid
And the times he was in jail
For some ludicrous reason
That is always the fault of others.
He tell you how much you mean
And that you are like brothers
And then one morning you rise
And your stereo is gone
And so is Buddy Buzzkill
It’s time for him to move on.

Walking on cloud nine but searching for answer it like trying to solve an equation with no *******  pencil   so I boom to the beat in shake to the rhythm spark up another one but this one much bigger  laughing and giggling I'm out of my mine I'm high yes indeed I jumped off cloud nine now Im beyond  the sky maybe even past the galaxies and stars  life as a stoner is not what it always seem stress being to Pal up faster and faster  there no answers in site so I being heading for disastero  so  I hit the blunt even hard  in the earth  get a little quieter the  pain slowly fades  away   nothing but peace and  funny faces i began to greet in happiness starts to from around every musical beats  in beats  become much louder spoken to me see all tho high life been so good to me it always runs  right back into reality  

                             _unique Marie