High

High

Sometimes I look.
Sometimes I sing.
Sometimes the shit in my head floats,
Like a balloon.
But I hate balloon rides.
See, I’m not like normal people, I’m a little crazy.
My balloon can never get across the wall, usually when I try I just break though.
Sometimes I need an extra boost.
I need it from Mama and Papa, but they never give it.
So usually I just break through.
“Break On Through, To The Other Side!”
I know, right?
Some days the zeppelin gets into my brain and blows.
A part of me wants it, only five percent.
Ninety-five’s still saying, “Stop It, God! Stop It!”
The shit’s piling up in my brain, the shits never settling.
Someone forgot to flush.
It was James, I swear, mama.
He forgot, not me.
You always thinks it’s me that
Does and
Writes and
Sings shit.
But it’s not me, it’s just my brain.
Not me, I’m alright.
Most of the time, except when I’m high.

-Fredrick W.