"marrisa" poems
I see the bowl.
I smell it.
I eat the cookie.
I taste it.
Green raindrops are falling on my head.
I laugh.
I cover the carb.
I inhale the smoke.
These noises
are smelly.
These voices
taste bad.
Senses
out of wack.
Jul 8, 2010
Jul 8, 2010 at 11:08 PM UTC