Wrote this under the influence of psilocybin.
If theres a hell and heaven then I guess I’m stuck here. 11 cents and a chapstick drop pocket that scream we don’t know. but we stare and stare. Steer clear from the reck. Posted posies remain hidden. filming nonchalance with cigarettes burning to the butt. we Inhale we inhale. Ashing our fingertips into the trays of our lungs. Brim to be crossed on foot we flee. Escape to nowhere on lead-footed paths. fixed faces and glazed eyes that smile.