a heart of a torrent
that never stops raging
testing my hands
i wish i had the boy
testing my back
i know joy
by the sweat of my brow
and by the work I've laid
whether a floor, door, wall, window
testing my hands
on the feel
of a glass pipe
brought to my lips
the burning sensation
the high, the alleviation
relief from the overwhelming feelings
of alienation, and a lack of direction
procrastination, stagnation
you were too busy galavanting
to take notice of the turn of years
of the changing of clock hands
when they said
indignant? do something about it!
they didn't mean get high man!
and now the feelings have built
and have been joined by the company
of other ill suitors
to whom do you take to the altar
who claims your life father
and what should you like the tombstone to say?