The Sunday Afternoon Sleep

While the rest were busy I ran to the top,
For a little happiness break or should I say a weedy stop.
The green burned and left it’s grace with me,
With careful steps I travelled back to my spaceship.

As I lay quietly on my cozy hugging bed,
Pretending to sleep with my bloodshot eyes…
I wonder if the smoke has passed…?
If there is left any smoke or smell..

The walls might have attacked the mist,
Not allowing the smoke to pass the fist.
The green innocent smoke bullied by the concrete jungle,
With the pathways so geometrical, escape must be a struggle.

Fuck… What If mother finds out?
And yet the green will be cursed again…
The innocent smoke of the green would cry,
With anger and discipline I shall be fried.

I wonder the fight between the two,
The virgin cannabis and the cemented army glued.
Will the green smoke win or the bitchy silt….?
Wishing I could go and help my mist….
I doze off to a falling sleep.



10 responses to “The Sunday Afternoon Sleep

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