Silly me. A paper and pen in hand, but for all the wrong purposes.
It was supposed to be purely academic,
And then it hit me and the world became psychedelic.
Blinded by white moonlight, and the fire in my lighter,
Desire. The burning in my lungs feels required.
Silly me. Like a big wave, it hit me, and I lost my balance.
But the tide pulls in, and I suffer from it’s absense,
The withdrawal symptoms. I can’t breathe,
Only with it’s touch I can be freed.
A three tier cake, with it’s many layers,
This game can never have too many players,
The baggage only comes and goes on a conveyor
Belt. Until then I’ll go ahead and say my prayers.