Scribblings of the Opiated Sherpa

A great treasure, Your smile is to me, From being overly appealing to look at, To being worth so much in the long run. I know you and me, We don’t smile as much as we should, But if we fed off more time together, We can smile a whole lot more. With you right here, You can be the cure to my loneliness, And I being next to you, You can trust me to be what you need. Best friends we can be, And great people together, To smile and enjoy, What time we spend together.

Don’t feel like reading, Only feel like writing. Because I’m tired of singing, And all I’m doing is waiting. My face sunburnt red, My nose makes me look like Rudolph, And my forehead looks terrible, Lots of lotions to help me out. The music plays, As I sit outside, There was a rainbow, A little while ago. I’m too lazy to make dinner, And my company should be returning, More sooner than later, And they just might bring something with them. The clouds are big from my balcony, Breaking the blue sky, Not letting the sun down, And teasing with the idea of rain. A branch broken below, From the ratty old tree behind the fence, Sounds emulating from the building across the way, And the time just flies by on another long weekend. And here I write, For the sake of keeping myself busy, Waiting for something new and exciting, To call or arrive. My two patio chairs are what I sit on, Comfortable for plastic, And they point me in the direction, Of the sun now breaking through. Comfortability is an a

Tonight, I question the number of hours, I have put in to everyone. A little self-doubt on the rocks, Served with a bowl of the finest emptiness. Every night that I feel this way, I have to downsize my expectations, Of life and people, And soon the downsizing will make out to be nothing. So little to hope for, And nothing to expect when you do hope, Leads me to be more jaded, And the more jaded means the more cut-off. It will be hard to convince me of what is good in the world, When all I get is indifference, Indifference and disappointment, Disappointment and loneliness. A sob story that can describe me to a tee, Still so young as so virile, And nobody chooses to run with me, To see where I can take them. Funny, eh?

To my Angel, Who’s afraid to fly, Way up high, With all of her Angel counterparts. Your feet, Too good for the ground, Which is too hard, Not to mention the long distance. The fear you have, Of the being in the sky so blue, Hopefully will be suppressed, With the thoughts of your arrival. Only the Angels, Who have nothing to fly to, Will fall to the ground, In a fiery glory. Rest assured, Your arrival will have everything, You wanted to come to, And even a whole lot more.