I don’t mind drugs.
Your way of owning/losing yourself
your way of ruling the world…
I don’t mind that!
In a room where eight are laying on the couch
two come, two go
what you choose to smoke, eat, snort
inhale– sell,
I don’t mind that.

The taste of mashed up leaves, spores
touching my inner skin
as you talk of bussiness:
math– meth,
and what I see…
oh, what I see is not something that can be understood
by the likes of you,
by the likes of me.

But the clock lies!

Today again, it says 1
and I swear, just a minute ago
it was 10.

But I know truth!
At least, I thought I knew true
the moment I laid my eyes on something I thought I knew–

And I did not.

Now the clock lies again,
It shows two!
But I swear,
it should’ve been twelve past ten.


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