I think we are gonna be friends

The sky is dirty cotton
Everything is slightly damp
And I light my too dry and too crumbly month old tobacco in my pipe
Which tastes a little like sweet tar, tingly with nicotine, and filled with flavor
And a little like burnt paper

I’m out here to read
Something
But my mind is too busy being depressed
Thinkjng about all the girlfriends I never had
All the genius that’s leaked out of my skull all these years
Eaten away by hours and hours of brain melting entertainment
Which corrodes one’s psyche until it’s left a calcified lump in
The stubbornly knocking engine atop your head

The future feels distant as the green wisps blow the wrong direction
Into my eyes
So distant, in fact, that it feels like a fictional world
Fame, fortune, family, and Santa Clause all have lunch on the beaches of Never Neverland
They share a sushi platter and a particularly tomato heavy salad
While the buzz sets in
I’ve accidentally inhaled too much
and now I’m too focused on not getting sick to be depressed

My wishes and my tobacco have a lot in common
I think I’ll stop smoking and just let the damp make my face all sticky