Chasing the Dragon

My dreams rest on foil with a match underneath.
I light them on fire and breathe in relief;
it seeps in my lungs and my veins start to seethe
for just seconds. Then suddenly

I’m weightless,

floating inches above my mattress
simultaneously tasting unconsciousness and
wondrous actuality.

But in reality, I’m lost
somewhere in between the bad and the badder,
trippin’ through Wonderland ‘cept there ain’t no Mad Hatter,
no blondie named Alice, no cat to grin at her.
The moon’s shining bright but I got no ladder
and being glued to this earth just makes me sadder
when I’m tryin’ to thieve haloes
from the night.

...that **** ain't right.

I kinda want to wander up yonder
‘cause I’m fonder of the sky and
I like to get high all the time,

but my mind won’t let go of the memories
I don’t quite wish to remember, like
skylark tunes and Mylar balloons,
late night headaches and early morning cartoons,
soaking in the heat of late summer afternoons
while praying I’d never be grounded.

(I kinda want to wander…)

They make me feel brand new,

unbroken,

like I never started smoking my sanity.
It’s an unnerving feeling that paints me in vanity blues,
cleaves me in two, then melts my heart into puddles of bruised
infatuation.

(…I’m fonder of the sky…)

I should quit this and
spit out my discontent,
but the bitter kiss of my pent-up anger
angles the match and lights all my dreams on fire.

(…I like to get high all the time.)