Not based on a true story.
We were going to class,
See. My roommate and I. This long lecture class.
Two hours. Ethnomusicology.
And so I say to Jesse. That’s my roommate. Jesse. I say
let’s smoke a bowl in the facilities closet
right beforehand. And he says, yeah, okay.
And so we do, except apparently my dealer mixed up his stuff
Because we smoked salvia. That’s not illegal I learned,
But I wouldn’t recommend it for pregaming a class with.
Shortly after we got to the room I was a book.
People just stared at me. No one said a word.
I was certain they were reading me because
My torso had split open and there was a story there.
Jesse told me that it was raining long diagonal lines and
He was falling down them, but I don’t remember that at all.
My vision stopped vibrating in the bathroom.
I had stumbled out just after class had started,
Pausing only for a second to put on my jacket
That I sewed deftly of the quilted walls.
As I wandered back I realized I no longer feared death
Which worked out because Jesse was certainly going to kill me.