To the lover of my youth,
and the yellow in my tooth.
To the flower's greatest prize,
and the red behind my eyes.
God knows I love you, you're green but true blue,
oh Mary Jane, my girl, this one's for you.

fear not the unknown
but the uncertain
the state of uncertainty
is an empty eternity

this or that
neither this nor that
never escaping doubt
blank direction

We met in the haziness 
Hid in its green clouds 
Long breaths of laziness 
Without no care or doubts 

I’m drunk by your liquor eyes
High by your pleasure 
Addicted to your taste
You give me that seizure 

If I’m clean
Free by your dark dirt 
I’m bored when I’m sober 
Without your stains on my T-shirt

You are the danger
I don’t want to avoid 
If it kills me let it be 
Nothing would fill the void

How did I fall for you 
I don’t know 
Your starry eyes captured me
And made me go 
Crazy

green debris
all over tan seats
tree debris
my mom will get in and ask,
“who’s been smoking ****”

i’ll shake my head
at my clumsiness
**** you shaky hands
and a mind too busy

i’ve been waitin on a good high all day
too bad i spilled my almost rolled blunt

Smoke more ****, at night,
Forget in the daylight you wanna die,
Cause life's rough,
And you're tired of acting tough,
So smoke ****, to get high,
Forget that you wanna die,
Forget that you wanna die,
Smoke ****, so high,
Cause trauma leave scars,
And you're thoughts are turning dark,
In my mind it's all a mess,
And I must, I must confess,
Or I'm going to die,
But I'll continue to lie,
So I'll get high, smoke ****,
Until I can succeed,
In forgetting about you,
And the things that you made me do,

Trauma unfortunately makes the world go wrong way round,
Makes good people turn morally 180 upside down,
Do things they wouldn't of done,
If someone hadn't ****** them up,
Smoke ****, get high,
Forget that you wanna die,
Wanna die, wanna die, get high,

Why do people do horrible things?
It's like a circular cycle of a ring,
It goes round and round, trauma does,
And it's so, it's so ****** up,
So we smoke ****, and get high,
To forget that we want to die,
Because someone hurt us in a way,
That still affects us to this day,
So we numb our brain,
With any kind of novocaine,
Because trauma is pain,
Every day, that's why I'm insane,
And I want it to stop, stop, stop,
So I take a pufffff,
of ****, to get high,
Forget that I wanna die,

Trauma unfortunately makes the world go wrong way round,
Makes good people turn morally 180 upside down,
Do things they wouldn't of done,
If someone hadn't ****** them up,
Smoke ****, get high,
Forget that you wanna die,
Wanna die, wanna die, get high.

Cinnamon
winters the rolls.
If my past childhood memories serve me correctly.
Better than playing in the wettest Christmas snow
leaves a sweet kiss behind.
My lips follows, with an expected sigh.
To again taste one of many...
the many tasty treasures left behind
by the Elusive divine.
In that very moment;
where the sweet cinnamon lubricates
my feisty lips.
All is ******* history.
Isn't it?
And so I ravaged the now decimated sweet treasure
with many sinful bites.
Smoked a cigarette afterwards.
There was a no smoking sign.
Indeed, **** and cinnamon don't mix.
On the tiny red plate, where the cinnamon rolls once lived.
a few crumbs in its wake still exists.
Confusion is typical of this kind of ish.
When you lick the mooing cows hidden dish.

Written and Copyrighted (C) 2014
by Claude Robert Hill, IV.