I have to say,
The pot is still alarming.
You live your life in a haze of smoke,
Too high to see me.
I burn at your touch,
You moan at mine.
But I have to admit,
That you were rough last time.
Do you have to be high
to touch me
to see me
to want me
to be with me?
You're playing around blackness
The way the haze moves in
like a dampening fog.
Take away what is really there,
Hide it away
And see nothing
But,
Whatever it makes you see.
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