Joey was talking to himself. Joeys mom didn’t know what to do so she brought him to a mental institution. After 2 days Joeys mom came out of the Institution with her brain fried. Joey was 9. Joey was fine.
The days go on. A search for high and low I cannot find. Within my deepest thoughts, might I shine.
I need help to extradite the feign I fight that stops to bite my will to flight in the situation that’s full of madness.
Like a haze I snapped to reality. Coming down from a high unlike any other. This high did not come from drugs. This creativity did.
I looked up to the sky sober. It’s light blue haze shown around me with clouds hovering my head. In the distance a streetlight.