Confessions Of A Lone Smoker

I took too long to figure it out

That life was an actual short thing

Bones crack as I try bending over

The deeds I committed quite a time ago.

I took a heavy puff out of my pipe

As a rainbow covered the whole nightsky.

Or maybe that was a little glimpse

Of the many hues a smoke lets you see.

And there I keep my talons tight

Holding onto a weak branch of lies

The tree itself grows near the banks

Of a river, gloomy dismembered wights.

The branch is my self-woven world

A bunch of paradoxes are it’s only leaves.

It gets dark outside my senses

As I fight my demons in silence and vanity.

Yet I chose to cling to that very branch

After all it was my inheritance, my rune.

They say I’m a monster of my own disasters

Life was never meant to be this cruel.

And I smoked the sweet curses deep

Till it reached my conscience’s cavity.

It filled a sense of euphoria inside, 

a part of me was lost in it, imagining paradoxes.

My hands tremble as I walk down the alley

A dark affair guzzling in my throat.

They shooed me away like an animal-

As I exhaled wisps of white, melting into thin air.

Down the road an old man sat smiling

Swaying a bottle in his hand, whistling.

I moved what remained in me-lurching forward,

A swig or two would do, I guess.

He had a hearty laugh that came out in fits

Of cough and phlegm as he took a drag

Perhaps a bit too strong yet too much fulfilling. 

He inhaled some more and smiled at me.

I sat beside him, as he took a another one

The burgundy liquid ran down my smoky veins

And struck me right above that epicentre

Simple thoughts crossed those fissures as I sat staring the rising Sun.

Life was something I never wanted to comprehend.

When it struck me flat on a slippery carpet of fate,

I chose to appreciate the depths of it's marvellous curves.

I hummed the homecoming of warriors.

Everything that I felt was magic indeed

I live on rainbows, my life’s painted in seven colours.

I grew weed in shallow vases while rolling cubes.

I lived in a dream that was too real.

Still, they force me to see my reality.

I’m a street dog with a polished mane.

I go hungry once in a while, breathing ketones.

The smoke is all that keeps me alive.

Tell me, o wise sapiens!

Is the world your place to thrive and not mine?

Is it your right to dream and not mine?

Tell me; do I bark with my human mouth?

Shouting out loud on the streets

I gathered myself from the pavement

I walked down further, I was enlightened.

I knew that I was coming home.