The mumblings of yesteryear
Have now been sealed,
Confined within a black box
Containing the lost souls of letters.
Words of sorrow and angst
Used to inhabit my digital fortress.
Repetitive rants on my shortcomings
Were abundant in my collection
Of terse blurbs.
But also contained were the occasional
Airing of inebriated ramblings.
They were the online headquarters
For my club,
The Fellowship of the Reefer.
One fantasy world
Where a glass pipe
Represented an identity.
These words documented
Every twist and turn
My chaotic life took,
Whether it be for better
Or for worse.
It was usually the latter.
On a cold November afternoon,
I cemented my innermost thoughts
Within an obsidian vortex.
While I enjoyed reading through records
Of my sunless lifestyle
Clouded by the smog of marijuana smoke
As well as the rivers of vodka
That streamed through rows of written lines,
I had to close that chapter
And open up a new journal,
Where I was usually sober
And not always in limbo.
Now I write with reasonable levels of stability.
Now I can experience the pleasant times
Without buds of sinsemilla
Or shots of Absolut
Flowing through my blood vessels.
I can also express clarity
Through my own thoughts
Rather than through song lyrics.
But of course,
I sometimes want to relive
The maneuvers of my madness
And continue to unleash words
That can only come from the expansion
And constriction of cranial nerves.
My deep secrets can use a little spice.
The next chapter has begun.

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