The walls are bleeding pretty patterns,
As he floats upon a wistful cloud,
Those thoughts, becoming scattered,
Falling like a shroud.
“Did I just smoke too much?”,
He believed, his limits exceeded,
Using this vegetable for a crutch.
He has probably 60 minutes,
Until he’s sober enough to budge.
Awakens with a hunger sensation,
Still in the midst of heavy sedation.
Yet, far too high for food’s creation.
That house is but a mountain,
That kitchen is his summit.
If he can’t manage to reach it soon,
To his death, he’ll surely plummet.
How could he survive,
With his body so deprived?
His heart is racing
He’s sure he’ll die
T’was time to lift those tired legs,
And get up off his ass!
He stumbled his way to the food he’d sought,
And scoured the cupboards from inside.
Cupboards laid bare by a deficit of groceries bought,
He can feel his heart and gut divide.
He’d never been one to throw up white flags,
So, he managed himself a sandwich.
Every bite, came with silent gags.
He’s not sure if he’ll be leaving,
From outside a body-bag.
T’was of mayo, pickles, jam.
It didn’t taste as good as planned.
So, he topped it off with ham.
He wasn’t sure why he used the jam.
Like any hungry man of action,
He thought to eat it all,
But ate a fraction.
He wasn’t sure why he used the jam,
And now, there’s no more ham.
Eating his ham-jam sandwich in bed,
He’s overwhelmed with dread,
And why do cows have such big heads?
He tries to sleep, despite his inner prattle –
Over the physics of common dairy cattle.
As beads of sweat roll down his cheeks,
He drifts off to rhythmic heartbeats,
But, he’s distracted by his pulse instead.
He’s pretty sure he’ll wind up dead!