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I know somewhere beyond the sky

My brain floats up around, so high.

The smoke fills up my lungs and room

And in this state I feel no gloom.

I can’t feel mad, or sad, or rage;

I should feel happy at this age.

But why do I need weed and wine

To make me feel alright and fine?

See when they’re gone, I feel so sad,

and hurt, enraged, lonely, and mad.

So while I can enjoy this high,

I’ll let my brain float past the sky.

 

(4/7/2015)

xo, B

 

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