A high chick lost in blurs of images,
tripping off the weed I'm giving her.
Emotions viewed as pesky menaces,
smoking to view life as if it's innocent.
Dreaming dreams I hope to have but can never live.
She hopes to make pain disappear without the appearance of tears.
Euphoria, we reach out to with highs we hope this feeling is,
this life entices a need for freedom of minds.
Changing with the tides as if the moon is our puppeteer,
flowing over the waves while watching the puppeteer in crescent form.
The fear of trust forgotten in autumn midnight air,
let not the moonlight expose our secret love affair.
All these things forgotten in this night.
Our high makes it okay that we are pulled by strings.
As our high intensifies the pleasure our bodies already give each other,
We know what we have is not something a thunderstorm could weather.
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