Know I’ve been heavy on the pot, carcinogenic imagery and whatnot, but I’m caught between the smoke and a hard place.
Hallucinations fakin’ orgasms of authenticity when you take my city and call it a slum, sitting so far above the fumes.
Elephants imagined are now testing the room, spoon fed our self-esteem, a meal we refused.
Listening to the ravens croon like voices in my head you invited in seems preemptive, their broken sentences just scavengers,
sites of massacres in our stead.
So I lay that sanity to rest, superfluous consent of courtship between my worst and your best;
searching for the tiny threads of silver lining in the bedrock of everything lost to find the smallest of gains is a lullaby I can’t sustain
and so I smoke myself to sleep.