A Running High

I love the feel of the blunt in between my lips. Choke on the smoke. Puff it hard until it feels my lungs or throat. It's like a piece of mind I get when my soul lifts. Look I don't get high because I'm addicted or have an addiction. My heart is pure to you but it's not the painting I depicted. It seems like everything is better when I'm high. I start to forget about the things that I am sometimes deprived. Like my birthday was the 11th of October, what a time to be alive. But I was mad the whole damn time thinking god why haven't I died? All jokes set aside. Kicking the bucket inside. I'm hanged by the thread either that or laying on a bed of lies. Where the time go. Boggled by the high times in the skies it walked out on me where my mind go. How many beats can my heart skip? How many words can I form perfectly but leave imperfectly from my lip. I hate my family but love them to death contradiction. But how if my family has proven to be contridicting. How many lines can I form before I run out. My life behind ain't really what it turns out. To be. Me. The fat guy who can't for the life of him be free. Fuck a third eye if that's the only eye that see's. How can I hate the man if that's the man I suppose to be. Only cause he's seen what I seen but got it together at a later date it seems to me. Can't enjoy the person I am if I want to die I guess the price is high for me to bleed. I haven't scratched one thing off my checklist. I guess I've been blacklist. Acting like I'm happy? Is about as stupid as Donald Trump is. I have not once felt happy. At least I try. Football is better than my life cause at least in football you get a bye. What nonsense y'all think I'm bout to write about today? If I told you about my dreams and fantasies about being taken away. What would you think, if you tuned in to it at that time of my line will you stay? There's no better picture nor place I could paint. My paragraphs don't telegraph for the squeamish to faint.