Ode to a bong hit

The Bong hits hard.
I’m three feet deep.
Into my sofa, I’m sinking.
Clouds of time, passing me by.
Words become obsolete.
Thoughts become visible.
The “I” in “Me”, dissolves into the wind.
Music is my companion.
Drums, synthesizers.
They are my teachers.
They whisper and I sink even deeper.
My lips start to crack.
The tongue becomes a wonderer trapped in a desert.

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