The Smoke

My head is spinning, swirling in circles.

Every step is like walking through a hurricane.

I'm stumbling over air.

My legs, weak as jello.

My arms, heavy as boulders apon a hill.

What is happening?

My words, slured so much as a drunkard's.

But this smell, so sweet, yet bitter.

It fills my brain, it's foggy.

Yet I feel so free...