Sometimes I walk the desolate streets of NOW,
on the thin line between boredom and uselessness,
and I have regrets eating at my soul.

Then I remember the littlest things
and it rips me back to sanity.
The smell of rain.
The sense of wonder
after dark
when all hides behind lights
and a lone car passing by
sounds like a sonata.

Then I look at the joint in my hand
and realise that a little dementia
is all you’ve left me with.

I am free.

I am just random in a world of discord.

(c) 2010 allen simpson

wrote this poemin my naughty days when I smoked at lot of Cannabis.