Nights Are Comfortable
poetry2018
Nights are comfortable.
Sitting in the backseat
He rests his head
With a half smoked blunt in between his fingers
He feels a little dead
and alive
The good kinda dead
and the good kinda alive
His hand's numb
His mind's a bee hive
Into a black hole of nothingness and everythingness
He takes a nose dive
What does this feel like?
Eyes shut
He thinks of a butt of this chick he doesn't remember anymore
and of the sweet smell that
the cool breeze brings along
sometimes
The song that plays in the car
that he's never heard before
and how it still compliments
the sound of the moving cars
He rests against the car door
He now feels dead more
and alive less
He thinks of the light orange
that his skin feels like
when the winter sun seeps into it
and of the midnight blue
that his face glows with
when the winter wind
hits it
through the window
He feels like the moon.
The doobie still between his numb fingers
he contemplates
why hasn't it fallen yet
and celebrates
the numbness that his fingers advocate
and how it dominates
the colour of his eyes that's red
which demonstrates and emulates
everything that his heart resonates –
Red.
he opens his eyes
the wind rushes by
he sees the night light
by his bedside
and turns it off.
Nights are comfortable.
-IR