I Like It When It Rains
It's early. Early-ish, I suppose. The time of day when respectable, responsible... hell, downright sensible folks are meandering comfortably through their Saturday sunrise routine. The late winter sun softly caresses the kitchen tile. Under foot floorboards embrace the bare souls traversing its distance.
It's early and I am alone and stoned. Each sway of my six-foot three me sends ripples of spins through my baked brain! My hands, thousand pound hammers pounding the faded keys. The words flitter like drunken sparrows, trill whistles - my thoughts, elude you and me.
Conventional... convension-HELL way of living forever ignores my desire for normalcy. Where are you? Comfortably secure in the arms of civility and charm?
Where are you?
It's lonely over here. I need you. I apologize for the desecrated soul you see before you. The guttural drone of the stoned and lonely shell begs your pardon for its awkwardness. It's Saturday morning and I'm alone. Please?
I kick off the frayed and faded house boots. Alone and stoned, thoughts slowly dumbing-down.
I am lost.
Where are you?
It's early and I am alone and stoned. Each sway of my six-foot three me sends ripples of spins through my baked brain! My hands, thousand pound hammers pounding the faded keys. The words flitter like drunken sparrows, trill whistles - my thoughts, elude you and me.
Conventional... convension-HELL way of living forever ignores my desire for normalcy. Where are you? Comfortably secure in the arms of civility and charm?
Where are you?
It's lonely over here. I need you. I apologize for the desecrated soul you see before you. The guttural drone of the stoned and lonely shell begs your pardon for its awkwardness. It's Saturday morning and I'm alone. Please?
I kick off the frayed and faded house boots. Alone and stoned, thoughts slowly dumbing-down.
I am lost.
Where are you?
51-55, M