There aren't enough poems about being high in a gas station in the dead of night and I seek to fix that. Written in 2019.
Fluorescent lights hummed a monotone drone, In the background, the resonant chimes and dings of the cash register sing. A lone moth fluttered past my empty dome Light, purposeless, similar to myself. Glassy eyes wandered back, staring deep into the infinite assembly line I could not help but lose myself in. Neon nectars beckoned me like a sugary siren, I was a drunken sailor to their decadent call. I lost and found myself, aisle after aisle Until a warmth, a glow, near divine, graced me. A fresh soft pretzel beckoned me to my very soul, Golden yeast skin cheddar cheese veins, The savior I needed to feel at ease again.
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