Tw (drug)
Weed is my white,
it turns into coke
a black sickly-
Powder
I sip lean for the silence,
it curdles to static—
sweet on my tongue
turns sharp in my mind.
The walls become a new colour,
stale dry and withered-
I light my spliff-
sweet-numbmness,
The calm comes in capsules,
it blossoms to chaos—
chalk on my tongue
turns loud in my veins,
a quiet I chase
that won’t stay still.
