Poetry

Hard-Earned Relaxation

But back to chill mode
The glass ceiling is so low
I shattered it a long time ago
I’m smoking purple haze
You heard of the strain?
I like to hear the sound of water as it goes down the drain
Melodic, hypnotic. While you listen to tunes robotic
Memory episodic. I’m jottin’ you rotting
Dotting the lotting
Nothing left to do
But burn this blunt and fantasize sexually
About the girl at the casino
Who just a few hours ago was in the car next to me
(I drove her home)

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