Author: PyroWriter PM
Zip. Pack. Roll. Lick. Breathe. Scrich. Pop. Flame. Inhale. Ahhh. I not high yet, but after a hit like that I know I will be.Rated: Fiction T - English - Words: 1,187 - Reviews: 3 - Favs: 1 - Published: 06-23-07 - id: 2380713
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Zip. Pack. Roll. Lick. Breathe. Scrich. Pop. Flame. Inhale. Ahhh. I not high yet, but after a hit like that I know I will be. The world is still okay. Shame. I don't like it okay. I like it beautiful. The world is getting quiet now. Not like someone hit the"mute" button, but more like they're slowing turning it down. 25, 24, 23. Smoke in my face. It's Gravity. His mouth forms an O and the smoke pours out. In bursts though. Because he's coughing. It's off. The world I mean. I can't hear it anymore. And yet. I can hear everything. I want to watch a movie.
Suck hard. Burn in my throat. I like that feeling. I cough. Not because I'm a rookie. I'm not a rookie. Coughing opens your capillaries. Those little guys living on the trees in you lungs. Love those guys. They taught me how to live. Morisson has the joint now. Curl. It seems a sound. I love this sound. His eyes aren't red. We'll get them red tonight. My heartbeats racing. It's affecting me now. Hand me the cig, Douggie. I stand up before I light it. Zip. Pop. Crackle. It's lit now. A opaque wind fills me. I think. I can't see in my throat. My uvula would stare back. Poof I'm gone. Lifted. The glass shell shattered. I've entered a different platform. Laughter. I fell. Fuck.
It tastes like silver. I've never tasted silver but it has to taste like this. Blood. Warm. Not like icing at all. I want cake. Where's Joey.
Tap. Tap. Is this thing on? The lights are too bright. Is Joey here? No. I'm in my chair again. The joint is in my hand. I do what I usually do when a joint is in my hand. The sense Chandra spews is the truth. But it's only the truth for right now. The music floods in and Joey returns. Give me a hit says Joey. We give him a hit. We give him another. Now he is truly Joey. The miracle plant in our joint makes it so. When we are sober again, whenever that will be, his name will be Joe again. If he is wearing a tie, it will be Joseph. But now. With the capillary people in my lungs and the smoke in his head, he is Joey. We like him better that way. Morrison gives him a high-five. Joey laughs. High and shrill. That is Joey's laugh. It isn't Joe's. Now he must have his super powers.
Joe cannot fly. Joey thinks he can't, but he can. I know it Morrison knows it. My uvula knows too. I don't know if Lucky knows. He will soon. Show him, Joey. Joey shows him.
If only the moon would cry, we'd have a trail to it's eyes
Joey steps into the sunlight. It's midnight. He raises a hand to the sky. He looks stupid to the uninformed. We are not uninformed. We are the opposite. We do not look stupid. We look the opposite.
Snap. Slip. Sigh. Smoke through my nose and mouth. It's true. You can do it. I can feel the energy gather before he leaves. I'm sure they can too. Schwa. He's gone. Probably in a cloud somewhere. I want to follow him, but my wings are weak and small. But I love them. I flex my shoulders. The feathers flutter in the breeze. Joey has returned. Lucy nods in approval. I did too.
Scribble. Bleed. Scribble. Scribble. It will be magnificent. The blood comes out as truth. Truth and ink. It's not blood at all. The Teacher will not like it. Maybe she will. Quizas. Kiss ass. The hour is over. Bells eat my ear drums. We are gone. We are the youth. We are the future. We will bleed for our nation. Neil punches Darren. We are hopeless.
Ice. Shiver. Grimace. I'm in the office, but I'm not in trouble. I got between them because I am the guy that gets in between things and ends up in the office for not being in trouble. Water drips through my eye lashes. Ice melts. Blink. Darren hit me.
My days don't exist as they do for others. I blame my skin. The Actual hits me, but I do not understand it's meaning. I assume it doesn't want to make sense. The Subreality. Permeates my skin. Lives in my blood. Bubble. Bubble. I will bleed tonight. It's the only way to release The Subreality. Or it will live inside me. Sunny will love what I bleed. She will bleed what I love. Our ink will curl together someday. Maybe it's will be our smoke. It will form a heart. A pulsing one. She brushes hair from her eye. She's even more illuminated now. I have no lust in my being for her. It's all intangible dreams and wisps of The Imaginary. I will tell her tomorrow. I always tell her tomorrow. It is why she doesn't know.
Should I call your mother. The woman wants to know. I shake my head and collapse on the cot. She calls my mother anyways. We are in the car. Now. I sit perfectly still. Yes. My day was fine. I got punched in the face, but I do not remember. You are telling me this for the first time. It is swelling now. But swelling exists in The Actual. I know it is there but the epidermis is a chronic liar. The Subreality tells me what I want to hear. There is a heart living in my cheek. Yeah. Sounds romantic. I'll put it in a poem, when you understand me.
Type. Insomnia. I haven't slept in seven days. It's not the drugs. It's the responsibility. Stir. Type. I am making dinner. Tick Tick. Time passes when I cook. The homework will not wait.
Dream about your whiskers and tell me if you love them on your face..
Not tonight, Duke. I have a Sarah to care for. She is thirteen. She needs someone to care. Mother cares. She cares too much. Bubble. Add the noodles. They sound like baby snakes on marble.
Where were you last night. Clarissa asks but it's not a question. I see no question mark at the end of her words. She is my friend, Not like Lucky and Chandra. They are my . I live differently with each. With my friends I have no name. The difference is when I'm with my I don't have a name. But they know that I want one. Joey knows I want a name. Joe does not. It is because Joe is my friend. Joey is my . He wants to give me a name and I want him to give me a name. We want to give me a name.