This Is Why I Want It

The smoke leaves my mouth

like a chimney on Christmas day.

I feel the energy shift around me,

I feel the altitude shiver like a step out the door.

Every bad thought I've ever had leaves,

and I feel peace.

I think too much, that's my problem,

I break the mold far too often,

I overstep, I overlook,

I feel regret, I feel mistook,

I feel everything.

I can't tell who I am sometimes,

and when I forget,

it helps me remember.

And I couldn't thank God enough,

that he made something to help me,

fucking finally.

I feel like my brain wasn't made for this place,

it was made for a quiet meadow,

somewhere beautiful but not too far.

Someplace that has a rummage shop,

where I can buy a yard of lace for 15 cents.

My heart speeds up,

my hands start to sweat,

everything I've ever thought enters my head.

All the neurons in my brain fire at once,

almost like the squad at my fatal execution.

I see it in a vision,

no one is in black,

there are no tears,

there is no one.

Then everything rewinds,

and I'm 4 years old,

being told,

that I wouldn't be missed if I was gone,

by my own flesh and blood.

And suddenly I'm on the ground,

but I can't feel it,

I can't feel the ground.

This is why I need it.

You say it's horrific,

you invade the sacred privacy of my body,

and I have to let you.

This is why I want it.

This is how it helps me.

Please,

let it help me.