slangin stones and bootin' black tar. i remember a time when getting high was fun. then i had to get high TO have fun. then i just HAD TO GET HIGH. thought i had it kicked in the ass... rakin' up the clean time like a champ..... then somehow..... same old bullshit..... maybe someday i'll get it right.
it's not really a poem... more like a confession....i had to tell someone... 3:30 in the morning, sweet little girlfriend goes to bed.... do i go in and snuggle up with her? nah.... i'm gong into the kitchen, pull a fit out of the bread drawer (conviently hidden amongst the loaves and assorted clutter that seems to all come to a head way in the back.....), couple of bags from the cupboard, maybey slide on into the livingroom.... have a little cookout for one.... and what the hell, how 'bout i top it all off by passing out with my face in the kkeyboard of my trusty little laptop... damn i'm cool.....
my man, i just aspire to as cool and well ronded as you....i know it is a lofty goal, but with diligence and patience (and just a little luck).... you could really suck my ass.
