THC Meets Poetry

Clouds Of THC

I'm chasing clouds of thc in an attempt to bring her closer to me. A cold breeze circles my body, but the hallucination of her presence keeps me warm. Or is that burning sensation in my chest because of my bong?

When I let go of my focus and loosen my grip on reality, I always end up in her bed. As she reaches for yet another cigarette I begin to salivate staring at her exposed neck. My brain is losing stability as I fall victim to the sounds of her love when I run my tongue along the veins of her throat.

I can feel the nerves in my head snap like electric wires but still I walk through the exhale of fumes until I am face to face with her once more where her hungry eyes scan my body, memorizing every detail.

I'm starting to feel dizzy, but I dare not try to regain consciousness. Instead I've chosen to ride this uncoordinated wave, and keep her in the forefront of my vision. Her breath is hot like the flames emitting from the lighter that dances under my knife before it melts the flesh of my arms.

If I can only see her in the overcast of smoke, then I will continue to fill my lungs with this bitter dust so that I may spend the night running my fingers through her wild hair. I'm getting lost in the fabric of her hoodie. Her scent is making me weak in the knees, or have I just been walking for far too long? Hallucinations of her keep me breathing, but they don't keep me sober it seems. She has become an addiction of mine that is strong enough to make me turn my back on the mere idea sobriety.

But in between the gaps of sobriety I feel her emotional unavailability and mental disconnect. I am not the one she cries out to in the late hours of the night, but rather the one who watches her reach her hand out to a love that has cut her open and bled her dry. I am not the one that makes her heart race nor ache. Instead I am the one who is lovesick and dehydrated. I am the one who's heart aches. While she's wishing back lost minutes with those who have made an impact on her life, I am begging for her hand as I lay on a bed unfamiliar to me while a stranger touches my body in a way that she should be touching me. I am nothing in comparison to those who have made her feel whole and happy and loved. I know that I won't be the one to change her mind.

Though my love for her is strong, it has begun to make me sore. I'm hanging on a possibility. The hope that life will join our paths together. I would wait for centuries for a chance of having her call me baby outside of her lustful nights, but as I sit on the trunk of my car I start to feel the same longing in my chest for her that she is feeling for others. I feel that I've lost someone I never had to begin with. If I can only be with her in the midst of a high then do me a favor and pass the blunt.