I’m craving something more.
Just a ñumy bit of
something 
in my mouth,
on my skin, 
in my chest.

just-
a visceral
way of tingling
Slowly breathing.
Smoke inflating
floating
bloating 
captain crunch
and whooshing lights. 
When I align the jewels up right. 

I don’t have to think as hard
If drugs can make me funny.
I can call my friend in town
And ask her, “can you help me out?”

Then I’m free of obligation
To engage in conversation
Or to think of being clever
Or regret my over eating

I can stay content at home. 
Both delighting and lamenting 
passing hour after hour 
that I used to spend while drinking, 

being dizzy by the pool.
with chlorine in my hair
with old and withered skin
trapped into lethargy.

I want a little more,
You know?
Just something ooh la la
It’s easier this way 
I say, 
but i know
it never really is. 

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