Smoke Myself to Sleep

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, 

circling 

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.

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