Your echoing existence
Ripples through me
You are cocain in good weed
What is the point of good weed then?
I am not much for pen these days
Forgive me for not wanting to see my misery in print
So the sound of departure now becomes
The pounding of keys and heart
And there is always that part of the night
When I realize my foot stretches all the way across this lonely bed
When every thought in my heavy head congregates
And suffocates me
Till I fall alseep
If only I could rest in peace