Rising Mist In The Sunshine

   Headphones blaring reggae music as the morning sun heats the wooden dance floor of the deck in my backyard. Sitting down in the king sized chair with my wild, curly facial hair. I feel another song coming on on my iPod. The morning sun feels bright and I feel the light shine through the mist as I smoke and spit. The next song feels so right, when it's Let's Go Get Stoned by Sublime. 45 minutes of smoking pleasure on the hookah pipe, reset the clock with another hookah coal and the atmosphere is just right. Bradley Nowell sings to me the stoner's lullaby. Days and nights spent with Kurt Cobain, Biggie Smalls and Sublime; right here right now there's no such impediment as time. There's nothing more frustrating the appointments wasting my time, twenty years old don't even have a job, who cares about being productive? I'm going to be busy my whole life so I figure I might as well sit down and finish my cigarette while I have the time.
   Eighteen years to get where I am today and my pay comes in the form of dip, smokes and porn. Not a satisfying payoff, I thought for sure I'd be much further along when I finally got here. All my friends are busy at their jobs, in college, with their families and their other friends. I'm lonely, watching the mountains as they take me back to simpler times; I don't know, I don't know where the time and the friends go when they disappear. All I know is that I wish they were still here, but I guess now is the perfect time to be selfish and just focus on myself. Days and nights are short and swift until the summer time, that's when I like to party-solo in my own backyard. Who needs friends when you've got some smokes? Who needs relationships when you've got porn? Who needs school when you've got Google?Who needs snow when you've got the house all to yourself? Who needs to worry about going to Hell when every moment of your life is heaven? Who needs luck when your lucky number isn't seven? Who cares how stupid your mistakes are as long as you learn your lesson?
    It doesn't matter that I don't live near a beach, I just have to smoke a cigarette and the bushes look like palm trees. My ugly brown house looks like a condo in the Bahamas, carved out of luxurious coconut trees in the summer. Forget the shoes, forget the clothes, forget the food, forget the snow, forget the pain, for get the regret, forget the sanity, forget the Gazette and the news, they're lying to you anyway, so you might as well lie to yourself about how bad the day was today. No need to run, no need to justify your escape just use your imagination to destroy your rage. Pall Malls and Motrin dull the pain and the hookah makes your life more vivid and sane. This world you live in is your cradle and your grave and no one can take it away. Let Iron Maiden and Metallica be your guide, from the shadows into the rising mist and the sunshine. Be Kurt Cobain, be Biggie Smalls, be Sublime!