Rings of smoke

Rings of smoke
I blow after I take a toke.
My head spins
in my attempt to decipher the multitude of marvelous dimensions
drifting throughout
the deepest depths of space.

Here I remain a heretic
As I tiptoe through the hectic
chasms swarming the cosmos.
'Tis a glorious gleaming stream of dreams.
I see nothing
is as it seems.
Nobody else hears our silent screams.
Nobody looks as we grapple
to get a grasp on this galactic manifestation,
the eternal projection
of multidimensional
generations
wandering the unbounded realms of infinity.

Rings of smoke
just a few more tokes.
Our imminent ascension into
astral dimensions
is inevitable.
Though we will attempt to prolong our temporary experience here.
Maybe we're not supposed to live in this reality forever.
Maybe we're supposed to transcend
this dreamland at some point.