Sunday morning...

Today what I see is the aftermath of yesterdays haze,
With savory virtues the storm had walked into my colossal hearth,
Waiting to fill me in the cauldron of delusional ways,
While I'm in the reverie of cannabis and grass.

To fry sausage,
What about the lost nutrition of the night?
I'm not that bold for the solidity of an omelet,
For tomorrow I shall be unfurled in the chaos of the maze of fright...

I ran to my the chamber,
So save myself from a psychedelic tempest,
Too sweet to suit a mundane mans savour,
Too bitter for the zest.

I'd like to tantalize myself into this hazed objection,
For this fantasy has usurped me into its arms,
You see, I'm in the median of lucidity and an hallucination,
But, I'm too dazed for the qualms...

Days, weeks and months have gone,
The daily paper's a shower of pseudo intellectuals,
Time has now become a product of the rot,
Morphs the rust into fuel...

Picture from the net- ( http://dark.pozadia.org/wallpaper/Abstract-face/ )