surrounded by those who get hit because of weeds,
i feel miserable like i was the smoke they let out,
dancing thru the air; killing tonne of people,
i should realise from the beginning,
i should be with them who burn their money for knowledge,
neither smoke nor soot produced,
only light leading to heaven maybe?
but me and those who smoke weeds are what they called friend,
it's hard to leave them,
or even tryna avoid the smell of their smoke,
i still didn't get myself polluted with it tho,
but i'm afraid they will be the one that kill me,
not their weeds.
YOU ARE READING
Deep Inside
Poetrywords from a quiet guy to share with the world. not a professional writer, just some late night thoughts.
