the fortunate son

all the tiny little hot rocks
from the joints you smoke
burn tiny holes through matter
until your brain is pock marked
and ruined

you forget how to spell
use grammar
hold a coherent
conversation

your mind dives and swivels
jumps like a demon
from bouncy castle thought
to bouncy castle feeling

you close inward
shelter
shutter down
the window of the soul

everything becomes hostile
ambiguous

you lurk ever on the defensive
the shadows become immense

until the dawn opens
like a lions jaw
and the sun shines through
like a splinter in the eye

the stark reality
merely a spoiled
fortunate son

my boyfriend smokes too much and so i appreciate what you have to say.