Pipe Dreams

Sleep was an occasional lover
Because In his life he needed one other
Another essential
A thing to keep him still.
“Nothing brings rest, like Mary will”

Not working out until he can’t stand
Not Lisa Ann with strangers hand
No babbling brook or creek could match
The taste of smoked sour leaves
Cut from bushy deisel trees

And though night snaps should be prince like
With purp raining down upon his psych
The priority that he held most high
Was the aroma of perfect dank
The every so lovely skunky stank

The new bright glow of leafy greens
Fit for even Victorian Queens
And crystals on the tiny tips
shaded by bright orange hairs
Showed it would give his mindset airs

The lonely stoner shuts off the light
and says to this world good night
Hoping the dark wont bring nightmares
That he knows so well
That feel like hell

Then, as he begins to dream
Of being on some champion team
The dark begins to overwhelm
An hated intrusion
Set to ruin the perfect illusion

As victory morphs into defeat
And his mind is sent to cubicle street
The champ that the world once knew
Is sentenced to filing papers
Instead of rolling up papers

Failure turns to his eternal trend
Beyond the point where men could mend
His fate was sealed
No chance to create something new
And there was nothing he could do

Then the grim terror begins to reach
Points that no thinking should breech
“What If’s?” that will break the brain
Thoughts that can turn the mind of a man
Into a sizzling egg on a frying pan

At one point it becomes too much
And before thoughts turn his mind to mush
His mind begins to shake him wake
Before he loses track of the real
And his sanity is no more than a breakfast meal