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I smoked a joint this morning to the rising sun up over on the Oregon hills in hopes that everything would be okay, which most of the time it always is but, never ends up back in the same spot we left it.
I’ve had this idea planted and poured through my blood stream for months now, but the idea was a fantasy, a fallacy of something I created in my own mind, but we all the know the dream will never work out and the roles being played are only just a game.
My grandma spoke to me today about a story, when she was young and gratis, but only she knew of that back then as I do now. With all the LSD and cocoa l e a v e s tracing back at me (the day was never free) but more of a longing for something that was never there. Still never will be.
The walk back home last night was long and paranoid and a man in my view not only had one but, two traces of him, while carrying a large bag back to my dorm hall at the campus. I stopped behind a bush and watched him walk in the door before he could make any attempt to run//catch me, because everyone last night was out to hurt me or get me for all the bad deeds I’ve done.
Nothing is more unfamiliar to me than it is here in Ashland. I don’t even like cigarettes anymore. The scent dehydrates my throat and leaves me left with nothing to taste . . .

Things will be left unsaid, and stories/events will never be told
Because we can unfold and unfold but the man behind the counter will never show his true colors. There are far too many things in display, far too many people to please, and far too many loved ones to show that now not only is his heart clear and loving, but the aching is taking its toll too.

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