Smoked OutA Poem by Floating on the feathers of a dandelion
It is black beyond the wooden frame, Yes, it’s black not dark, It seems so for ages now, Well, May be I missed on the sun or perhaps the sun missed me out, But I had been here all along, gazing out. And it’s smoky white inside this smothering structure, White, angelic white, The vision is blurred. But past the smoke, I see a red though; it’s my 59th smouldering cigarette, It’s burnt till the butt, and the tip of my lips, But it doesn’t burn, I want to suck in till the last cannabis burns, And make the bitter smoke linger forever. I feel so light, Am I high? Perhaps This addiction is not good, I do know. But I am not addicted; the pain is addicted, it’s my foe. Inflicting pain, with every moment. Hmmm…. I stub the butt somewhere. Now, I need more. I fumble for the pack, But I have no-more. Goddamn it. How do I fight the pain now? Die I might, if I’m not high Let me deceit my-self for sometime more, And play the happy-man without cigarette any-more. © 2008 Floating on the feathers of a dandelionFeatured Review
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24 Reviews Added on February 7, 2008 AuthorFloating on the feathers of a dandelionUnderneath blueeeeeeeeee sky, IndiaAboutHmmm.... About me ?!?!? I am what i would have wanted myself to be, i am a butterfly when i want to tickle the flowers, i am a bird when i want to compete with the flecks of cotton, i am the river whe.. more..Writing
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