Drog blunk, why not?
Everything makes sense in a nonsensical way, it’s like a Lewis Carroll fantasy with literal & visible portmanteaus floating in the air. I’d grab them and rip them in two, releasing them from their codependent imprisonment. Trade a hookah for cigarettes of poison, posing and posturing because they want to be loved. Love is a battlefield, so they say. Love is a mushroom three steps away. Build your lopsided house out of Norwegian wood and hope someone notices.
The only way to get this out of me is to wait, but who has the time? (I do). Well who has the patience/paitents? (I don’t) Fall into a dreamless sleep again and sleep it all off. I’m staring at the reflection on the ceiling from the classic movie disc beside my bed. I wish someone I never met would fall off of a building in front of me just so I would have another experience. Something else to grasp and retell.
It’s never really time to sleep, but I’ll try again and again. Night after night.
*This is vocabulary vomit, but one should occasionally write drunk.
One Comment
This makes me uncomfortable and so, I love it. You should drog blunk more often.
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