bad trip

i see my life confined to smoke rings,
attempting to make a perfect one,
dense and round,
a bad trip consumes me

one by one

i start losing every sense of mine

it begins since
i can’t feel the roach between my fingers
as though I were born with a cigarette
between the index and middle

dwelling inside my head,
all of a sudden,
voices from my past come alive
sitting by myself in a room,
i scream - stop screaming!

i hear a voice,
“these cracked walls have nothing to say.”

my burnt lips taste like
bitterness spread over frustration and restlessness.

the room reeks of heaven and hell
it smells like dead bodies burning and angels gyrating

looking through white clouds,
i see everything fading away
the trip seizes my soul and drops me in a scary place
where i find myself surrounded by the ghosts of my dead dreams

***

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