Here I come to release those thoughts that are usually pent up in my head. Peace. Tranquility. Rest. Happiness. This is what I hope to achieve. One day.
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
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Noah and the Whale
Alone.
Is that the right word? It doesn't seem adequate.
What do I have to do to be happy? I wish life came with a checklist.
Will this last? I want to know when I'll be free.
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Jesus fucking fuck fest of holy fucks and all else that is holy, this man is the shit. Seriously. I'd tap that. No homo...but kinda.
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The Smoker's Paradox
I hate people. And that sucks. When I smoke, I begin to analyze those around me. Why I do this, I have no idea. Maybe it becomes more clear to me when I'm stoned, how alike everyone is. How life, everyday life, is a monotonous march to the grave. I take mental notes of all of the idiosyncrasies, interests, personal beliefs, viewpoints, aspirations, and dreams of the ones next to me...
I think about their lives and their secrets. I think about their relationships with those they love and like, and even those they hate. I especially think of those who they interact with on a daily biases without ever really acknowledging that they exist. I wonder which people could fall out of their lives completely, never to be seen or heard from again, and not only never be missed, but completely forgotten of, because they never really mattered in the first place. I wonder which category I fall into.
I bet, more often than not, I am forgotten. This does not make me mad, as I am also at fault. This does not make me sad, as I assume this is just the natural progression of life and the course of most relationships. It does, however, make me lonely.
I hate people. And I'm lonely.
Fucking Catch-22's.
#relationships#stoner#weed#high#thoughts#people#death#life#secrets#dreams#lonely#alone#love#hate#pot
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Smoke
Another night of smoking alone. I've just returned from my closet. You see, in order for my bedroom to retain it's...natural oder, it's rather imperative for me to smoke elsewhere. The rest of my house won't do and climbing out onto the roof is too much of a hassle. That's where my closet comes into play. I don't know whatever happened to its door. A bead curtain made of painted bamboo chutes covers the entrance. It's like a small hide-away. The window in the closet has no screen, perfect for leaning out of to blow the smoke away.
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