Stoner Behaviour

waking up,
cold sweat.
Eyes still red from THC.
Kept it real, no extacy.

Blood circles his heart,
pain desires his auctioning happiness.

filthy house,
filthy shoes.
bottles and bottles of booze.
His motivation will choose,
which one will win,
which one will lose.

Haunting underground hip-hop circles the apartment.
"Fuck this" the only line penitent.

*lit up lighter sound.*
He's first drag of medicine,
This natural relief,
freedom,
joy and visual expression.

He sits down,
dust filled couch,
smell of marijuana still hunting the noses of his neighbours.
Will this one be his saviour?
For modern day behaviour?
Or make him fall into the never-ending haze? Sure.

Time flies,
his mouth dries,
slowly controlling his body,
His marijuana, will forever stay Holy.